Alice Syndrome
by Biohazard child
Summary: Draco is an infuriatingly sane patient at the Mattewan Psychiatric Institute, diagnosed as a psychopath. He is to be treated by none other than Harry Potter, a widely successful psychiatrist and doctor without a failure to his name. Chapter 18 is up!
1. A Strange Sort of Psychopathy

**(NOV13/08) PRELUDE**: This fic was written a very long time ago (haha, a year) and since then, I've realized how inaccurate the fic is with some of its terminology and procedures. If this offends you, please press the back button!

Thanks, and enjoy it. :D

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**Author's Note**: A new story :) This was a huge plot bunny... I just thought it was an interesting concept; hope you guys feel the same. :D

This is a big fat AU!! No relation to Hogwarts or other characters; albeit it's still HP/DM slash. :) I've added and will add current characters and past characters into the story of course, I'll try my best not to make up any characters.

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**ALICE SYNDROME  
** Presented by _BIOHAZARDCHILD_

A screech.

The sealed hydraulic door closed as a wizened man entered the small cell, his eyes tired and actions delayed. He was old; hair silver and trailing down to his back, dressed in a white labcoat, azure irises dark and fatigued behind small spectacles.

"Draco."

A pale man in the corner of the cell looked up, eyes expectant, a smirk pulling up full lips.

"Doctor Dumbledore! I wasn't expecting you; they had told me Doctor Fudge would be seeing me today."

He spoke brightly, tone nonchalant, sitting on the wooden bench that served as his bed.

Dumbledore let out a sigh, closing his eyes and swallowed before speaking in a forced calm tone, "Fudge is dead. You know that as well as anyone, considering you were the one who killed him."

The blond's fine eyebrows rose in mild surprise, "What? How could I have escaped from my chamber? You know better anyone Mattewan is guarded fiercely, inside and out."

"He was seen with you last."

Draco gave a slight sneer, the rays of light pouring in from the small window framing his eyelashes a translucent gold, "Oh, and from your deductive reasoning, I _must _have killed him? Dear me Doctor, I believe you are quite short-sighted." He lost interest in the other man, and started to stare at his nails inquisitively. He was actually relatively clean, compared to the place, which was rather dirty, but liveable. The convict was dressed in a pale gray habit, with small red lettering stitched across the breast that said, '_Mattewan_'. It had been laundered recently; much to the prisoner's relief.

The robed man gave another sigh, this time of faint vexation before turning on his heel, making the white coat billow slightly.

"You may only have one chance left, Draco, take it. Reform and repent."

The blond waved at the silver-haired man as he left, a small smile gracing his lips, malice dancing in those pale irises.

"Certainly, Doctor."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"A psychopath?"

Harry frowned, glancing down at the files he had in his hands, long fingers flipping through the pages. Psychopaths were usually rather difficult to handle, though the few he had treated were impulsive and really only needed a helping hand of sorts.

However, this was a new patient; a new challenge. It had listed the doctors that had attempted to treat this man, most lasting no longer than a few weeks, and a few of them actually ending up _dead_. Goosebumps ran through his skin, and he felt slightly chilled. Out of the string of psychiatrists that had treated him, his eyes followed a few eminent names: _Shacklebolt Passed... Moody Resigned, Dippet Resigned, Slughorn Passed... Granger Resigned, Merrythought Passed, Bones Resigned, McKinnon Resigned... Fudge Passed. _These were but a few of the names Harry recognized from the list, many more he did not note. He did not touch his new client's summary just yet.

The woman beside him rolled her eyes; she was exasperated to no end. The doctor was drifting in and out of a daze, browsing those documents and consequently blocking out her.

"Harry?"

He looked up, slightly startled.

"Oh, sorry, Ginny." The psychiatrist said, trying a wobbly grin and snapped the folder shut before the woman could get a good look.

The redhead scowled, eyes glittering with mirth and tinge of annoyance, "Yeah? Finally get to listening to me?" She peered over at the deep red file, reading the name of the hospital on the lapel.

"Mattewan? That big prisoner asylum in Buffalo?"

"Institution." replied Harry tartly, placing the file on the carpeted floor. "And I'm sure it's not a prison anymore; that goes against U.S. Law."

Ginny's scowl deepened, "God Potter," she clicked her tongue, sounding remotely like a mother, "of all the crazy jobs you wanted to pursue—"

"—I've always wanted to be a doctor. Maybe not psychiatrist _directly_, but I love my job." replied Harry smoothly. He had wanted to be a lot of things growing up... An astronaut... A fireman... A wizard... But the idea of helping others had always captured him; and he had always had a fascination with the mentally ill. It had not been taken kindly in middle and high school, where teachers had frowned on his interest, and simply stated that '_Potter was rude and has a detached absorption with some of the school's more needy children_,'. The doctor had remembered his mother's appalled face when she read this and had marched right back up to the school and demanded they explain the statement.

"Anyways..." the woman said, and smiled, breaking her scowl, "are you headed up there then? The infamous Harry Potter going to break this case as well?"

"Of course, Gins, of course." He smiled faintly, his finger tracing the name '_Draco Malfoy_'.


	2. The Mattewan Psychiatric Institute

**A/N: **Hopefully no Ginny bashing to come. :( Can't help if I do though; hahaha. Sorry there's no Ron (yet)... I doubt ickle Ronnie-kins would support Harry treating crazy people.

If I haven't mentioned this... The story is AU and takes place in Buffalo, New York, USA! (I don't live there by the way, Canada ftw... not.) Not Britain. Malfoy may use some british slang sometimes because he's originally from there; Harry won't.

**Disclaimer: **DM&HP and all charas…. not mine.

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**Chapter 2  
**_The Mattewan Psychiatric Institute_

Harry frowned; this map made no sense whatsoever. Although the Institute had paid for his arrival to Buffalo, given him a free apartment space in the ward and presented him with a map and a rented SUV, Harry was still… hopelessly lost.

_Take a left turn onto 34th street…_

Ugh. Nowhere in sight, apparently. Harry frantically looked around, searching the signposts for the tell-tale thirty-four… Aha! He saw it in the distance, as he squinted, trying to merge with the main lane. Traffic was vicious, apparently, even in Buffalo. For the umpteenth time, he wished Ginny were sitting next to him; she would've known how to get there in an instant. The redhead was resourceful, clever and witty and knew her way around everything and everyone. The doctor was actually rather surprised he hadn't developed any stronger feelings for his best friend; she had always been the kind of 'perfect woman' he had always imagined. Ginny had said she'd come up in a few weeks to check up on him after she finished her nursing apprenticeship at the New York State Hospital.

He gave a reluctant sigh as he finally pulled up, coming off an intersection with a lot of honking horns; the Mattewan Psychiatric Institute came into view.

The building was rather plain, white and gray bricks holding up a deep, navy blue roof. It was large, and bland looking, a set of iron double-doors greeting him as he pulled the black SUV by the gates. He was greeted by a speaker and a small blue button underneath it. Harry sighed and pushed it, waiting for an expectant crackly voice to come through on the device.

"_Mattewan Psychiatric Institute; who is requesting permission to enter?"_

A woman; her tone sharp and straight-to-the point. The raven-haired doctor stuck his head outside the window, shouting into the speaker.

"Harry James Potter, I came here under regards of Dr. Dumbledore?"

A pause.

"_Permission granted Mr. Potter; and just as a future reference, it is not necessary to scream into the speak next time, I can hear you just fine.."_

Harry blushed slightly, but the gates did indeed open, the path winding behind the building, presumably to the parking lot. He followed it to a large gray, paved space, and noting the other cars and vehicles, decided that that was probably an appropriate spot. Parking the SUV, the man hopped out, only to be greeted by a silver-haired man. Dumbledore.

They shook hands briefly and Harry noted how extraordinarily tired the dean looked, and knew it wasn't simply from age. He gave a small sigh and smiled faintly at Harry, nodding in approval.

"Yes… Dr. Potter was it? We are very pleased to have you here, and your marvellous record." His smile was warm and genuine, and Harry returned it with as much earnesty as he felt he could give.

"But I must warn you," there was a serious twinkle in his eye; Harry couldn't resist gulping slightly. "Your patient is very, very difficult. Many have tried and failed to treat him."

_This sounds like some sort of mystical journey,_ thought Harry with an internal chuckle, but on the exterior gave a stiff nod, showing he understood. He had treated many patients, and the infamous Dr. Potter was known to have treated, and _healed _back to sanity every one of his two hundred and sixty four clients. It was an amazing record; people had been rather curious to know how he did it. There had been no autobiographies though, no novels about his craft and how he performed it. Nothing. He preferred to keep his techniques and abilities, well, to himself. However, there had been plenty of biographies, though none he participated in directly.

"I've seen his file," replied Harry calmly, although this was a rather big lie, the smile was still fixed on his lips, "and I realize he may be rather dangerous, but rest assured Doctor Dumbledore; my methods are very successful."

The wizened doctor nodded again, and gestured to the back of Harry's rented vehicle. "Would you like to see your rooms? We'll have one of the nurses move your things up."

The psychiatrist shook his head, "No, I'm alright. Just give me the number, I'd like to meet my client."

_Rule Number One: Don't take a notebook, a pencil or anything when first going to see your client. It gives them a sense that you're not there to 'analyze', but to help._

Dumbledore spoke; voice soft, "Yours is room 26, Dr. Potter, and I will lead the way to Mr. Malfoy."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

There were steps and voices on cobbled stone as Draco listened, sat against it, his head propped up against the wall, watching the sunrays sift through the small window shift slowly on the ground, his silhouette motionless as the rays fell on top of him. Ah, Dumbledore again, probably with that last ditch attempt to _save_ him. What bullshit, honestly.

"We approach his room here…" The old man's voice echoed in the halls, and Draco raised his head slightly, just to show some feigned interest. Always funny to play Dumbledore, considering it took so much to get the doctor pissed, but it was _so_ amusing when it happened.

However, he almost felt his jaw drop in consternation as another man entered the chamber.

_Damn_.

"So…" The Head Doctor's tone was cool, sky blue eyes turning to Draco. "This would be Draco Malfoy. Draco, your new doctor."

He felt the other man's gaze turn to him, and he hungrily returned it, but restrained the look to a careless glance. Draco's pale irises absorbed every detail; untidy black hair, bright green eyes, the quizzical look planted on his face. He wore a grey sweater that looked rather well knitted and some dark jeans—rather casual for a doctor. He looked rather young too, well—_his _age, but still. Most doctors he saw were old and bitter, and usually ugly.

Draco snickered as the man stopped, then stared at Dumbledore and then back at him in resolute surprise, and knew it was because he probably looked nothing like _anything_ he had ever seen before. Draco Malfoy was the _epitome_ of sane.

"Hmm—" started the raven-haired man, looking almost speechless but had offered him a hand. "—I'm pleased to meet you." Draco chuckled. He looked almost… dare he say it... _shocked? _Was this _really_ the doctor killer?

"Likewise." replied the blond airily, extending a slender arm to shake hands with his new doctor. To his slight disdain, he found that he could not reach the man's hand with his own from where he was sitting. …No matter, you had to give up a few things to gain more.

The pale man got up and stood, and felt his joints groan quietly, angry for having to move in the first time in almost three hours. Malfoy gave a small smile and shook his hand firmly. The doctor looked rather taken back, but his face straightened and he coughed for good measure.

"I'm Harry—Doctor Potter." He said, looking slightly pained, his green eyes scouring the psychopath with faint perplexity. Interesting. Dumbledore was watching him with a quiet sense of concern; it almost caused Draco to sneer.

The blond resisted the urge to smirk, but nodded smugly, "Hmm, pleased to meet you Harry."

He frowned.

"Oops," replied Draco, giving the doctor a furtive glance, "_Doctor _Potter, sorry. I have to remember to be less casual, it's strictly Doctor-Patient, isn't it?"

"Of course." answered Harry quietly, his tone cool but still a tad bit confused. Dumbledore gave Draco a meaningful glance, a frown dancing on his features. This was obviously stressing him, which amused the blond to no end. Here Dumbledore was, hiring some twit he probably thought was fantastic, only to have them seem totally speechless around him.

He had to admit though; Harry Potter was one of the better-looking shrinks in a while.

"So…" replied Draco, bemusement bewitching his lips into another smile, "when is our first appointment?"


	3. Session 1: I Believe You Found Me Out

**A/N:** I love Psycho!Draco. He is so much fuuuun x0

R&R is lovedddddd ;-;!! You guys keep me going. X)

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**Chapter 3  
**_I Believe You Found Me Out_

Harry was puzzled.

It was an interesting feeling—being confused by someone. It hadn't happened for a while… Of course, his patients were not all transparent or easy to crack; they were all human beings with easily tangled and complex ideas. Draco Malfoy, however was another story.

Well, was he? Malfoy showed no exhibits of insanity, but then _that_ could be a sign of one—after all, he did appear to be a Strain 2 psychopath; one with extreme intelligence or perception, and were able to use it manipulate others. It was strangely fascinating—psychopaths were often 2D and very easy to predict—but he was interesting, though Harry had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't be enjoying the next few sessions. He liked engrossing patients, really he did, but the convict gave off an ominous aura.

Harry frowned, rustling his hair in a way many women found attractive; there was a subtle dominance of power there too. Malfoy was calm and rational—he kept his power buried, but it was there, discretely hidden behind those silver eyes and wry smirk. He had stood up too—Malfoy was exactly as tall as him apparently, and Harry knew there must have been a reason he had done so. To show Harry that they were equal, perhaps?

He had been dressed in a light grey top and pants, it was bland and boring, but it strangely went well with his pale skin and radiant eyes. He wasn't even quite sure how Draco Malfoy could keep himself so clean, every other patient he had treated looked dirty or unkempt or at least had a few hairs out of place.

Harry opened his eyes, looking up at the flecked ceiling with slight disapproval, looking for a minor distraction. The whole apartment was white, and rather drab looking, but it could be fixed up here and there, once he unpacked his bags. But the moment he had stepped out of that cell, and returned to the room, all he had done was lay on the bed and attempted to peel Malfoy like an onion. It was how he approached these things—everyone and everything could be stripped eventually to reveal their core. He found he couldn't stereotype the blond man _yet_; he had no opinion yet except he was a generally good looking and an underlying sense of hazard beneath the tight smiles and sidelong glances pervaded his otherwise contrasting looks.

Obviously he hadn't looked at Malfoy's folder closely enough; Harry had asked one of the nurses to send up his file later on, he hadn't bothered to remove the original one from his luggage. There was always a curiosity involved in trying to analyze a client before he read their file or determined what they were diagnosed with. It helped him look at whomever he was treating with a clearer mind… no judgements… Harry had discovered to his dismay that he was very prone to judging his patients after he discovered what they had done to get themselves into whatever asylum.

There had to be some reason Malfoy was here too; Mattewan was one of the largest Hospitals in New York State.

The doctor paused briefly.

He was thinking too much.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Draco was very, _very_ intrigued.

No doubt the new Doctor was just a piece of fluff, no substance at all, really. Harry Potter was too young to be experienced, probably too much of an '_abstract thinker_' to realize Draco had outwitted many of the world's best. Dumbledore must be losing it, or he must be desperate… Though, Potter was rather good looking and the blond could afford to keep him around for a while; Fleur had probably been moved to another ward after Dumbledore found out he had been sleeping with her. Whatever. She'd been nice, a cute French nurse, but no substance.

Actually, he had never met anyone with substance.

He sighed in resentment, sprawled on the wooden bench, the thin blanket around his legs, and thought.

Once Potter got a hold of his folder, there was no telling what would happen. Most likely the doctor hadn't even looked over his file—he had acted too general and non-stereotyping in their first meeting—which was just stupid, but once people did… their opinions generally changed.

It was a bit disappointing, to be truthful. This was going to be his 'last chance', and it wouldn't do anything for him at all. What a shame. Though, he will have fun with Harry before he drives him crazy, a good fuck in that equation was bound to happen.

And so, with a lick of his lips, Draco Malfoy began to plan.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**1st Session  
May 9th  
Mattewan Psychiatric Institute  
Client: Draco Malfoy  
Diagnosed with: Psychopathy**

Harry frowned, holding the stack of papers that included Malfoy's file, case records and rap sheet—which he had looked over last night—and a few pieces of blank paper for observation and in-promptu questions for character composure.

Malfoy was a _murderer_.

The doctor frowned, creasing one of the manila pages of the man's file in disdain. It wasn't unexpected or anything; it wasn't even surprising. Harry had dealt with multitudes of murderers in the past, and many of them are had gotten under his skin so often that any curt remarks simply beaded up and slid off him like rain. Malfoy was a psychopath—a being without remorse or guilt, no conscience or rules. He frowned—not even bothering to read Malfoy's file had put him at an disadvantage this time. Not for long, however. No, it wasn't the fact that he was a psychopath that concerned him… it was his criminal record.

It was long.

_Very_ long. Possibly the longest one Harry had ever seen in his life. The stack of paper he was holding was primarily comprised of the fifteen-page report—and it wasn't even in-depth. The doctor had been mildly alarmed at the size of it, and what was on it.

Seventy people? It had to be one of the largest Harry had ever dealt with. It would have probably intimidated any other doctor—a psychopath with countless deaths to his name—but really, he was only mildly surprised, and allowing a bit of human emotion to come through; he felt a bit angry at the whole ordeal. Malfoy was a serial killer, and one that did not deserve Harry's anger, but nevertheless, he felt a tinge of resentment tingeing his supposedly clear perception of the convict.

With another cool rise of his brow, the psychiatrist stared down at the incomplete summary. It was just slightly annoying that the folder had little information concerning Malfoy at all—it was just basic information and useless facts like birth date and age. There was nothing about him… not even the standardized patient history. Nothing. This made it just a tad more difficult to start off. Draco Malfoy was so much a typical psychopath; Harry wasn't sure why he had not been treated before. He was the conformed convict—a cold blooded killer with no concept of morals or anything similar—specialists should have been able to cope with him, he was so much of a stereotype. He had been so calm when talking too; even his actions were rational and taken with care. Too much rationality, in Harry's opinion, as he probably killed people with the same coolness and void of emotion.

There was alarming evidence that he killed Doctors as well; that would explain the unreasonable amount of 'deaths' in his string of former attempts. The fact actually scared the raven-haired psychiatrist a bit, but he refused to be intimidated. There was always a way out—if he felt his own life was in danger, and then he could always resign.

Harry sighed. The fact he had predetermined he would quit under _any_ circumstance was not a good prospect—he had an uneasy feeling that Malfoy would be nothing like any of the cases he's handled before.

He had no way of knowing how right he would be.

Harry stepped into the cell, and immediately, Draco's silver eyes fixed to him. The blond scowled slightly—Potter seemed to have stabilized through the night. A disappointment, that was all. So Potter was like every other psychiatrist that had stepped in here; exactly like them, which made Potter… boring. Though Draco had anticipated this, the stoic change of mood and stiffness, it was still disappointing however.

Draco wanted something _fun_.

Harry coughed, and Draco's attention diverted to him, impassive gray irises watching his doctor meticulously.

"So… Mr. Malfoy. Would you like to tell me a bit about yourself?" His tone was clipped, like he had practised this over and over. Which he probably had, considering he _was_ a shrink, and probably thought Draco was just as idiotic as the other pieces of institutionalized meat.

"Not really." Answered the blond lightly, catching a piece of fluff that had drifted above him with rapt attention.

"Really? Alright." Harry replied softly, eyeing the convict. He smiled professionally and flipped the page on the booklet, peering down at the leaflet with dispassion. "Shall I start off then?"

Draco didn't respond, but simply smiled and clutched the piece of fluff in his hands, his irises turning to look at the doctor lazily. Harry's smile faltered for a split second, but he cleared his throat and started to talk.

"Well… my name is Dr. Potter, and I'm 26. I like sports like tennis and listening to Jazz music and Blues because I find it relaxing…" He quirked a brow and returned the brittle gaze. "You, Mr. Malfoy?"

The blond yawned, exaggerating it to amplify his boredom. He returned to smile at the doctor before feigning a contemplative look. "Hmm… Alright. My name is Draco Malfoy, I'm 26 and I like killing people."

Harry chuckled dryly, "Very nice. Do you have any other interests than ending other's lives? I mean yes, it's a very nice profession, but you must surely do more things than that…"

"No, not really."

Both of the raven-haired man's brows rose at this—but he had expected no less. Simply shrugging, he flipped through the papers again, making them rustle in the small room. Draco watched him with impassivity—how could someone be so boring?

"Ever slept with a man before?"

The doctor's head snapped up and his brows knitted together. "Uh…? The reason behind this question, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco grinned in a somewhat suggestive matter, sitting up onto the wooden bench with a satisfied smirk.

"Just wondering."

Harry scowled; okay… Expected? No, not at all. Really, really _queer_? Yes.

"No…?" His sentence trailed off in puzzlement as he watched the convict carefully with those emerald eyes. What was he getting at?

_Oh_.

The brunet's scowl deepened and he set down the stack of papers on the oak table with a dull _thump_. "Mr. Malfoy, I hope you're not flirting with me. That would be rather inappropriate, would it not?" God. That was a bit weird to say the least—but flirting with the doctor happened often enough for Harry to know how to handle it.

The blond hummed and closed his eyes—apparently in thought. "Hmm… of course, doctor. I'm sorry I asked." He smiled again, shifting on the palete and rearranged his bed sheets in an oddly affectionate kind of way. Harry clicked the pen he was holding a few times before clearing his throat again, giving a meaningful look at the convict. Time to get down to business.

"So, Mr. Malfoy… What sort of hobbies did you pursue before arriving at Mattewan?"

"Hmm… I liked playing the piano?" _Might as well tell him something incredibly irrelevant_.

Harry scribbled down the fact quickly, swearing quietly as the green pen he used bled over the manila pages. He gave a disgusted scoff and pulled out a sheet of printer paper and started to write again with more fervour. Draco watched him with fluctuating interest—he was so boring, but _so_ nice to look at.

"The piano hmm? When was the last time you've played it?"

"6… Maybe 7 years? I can't remember anymore."

"Would you play some for me if you could?"

Draco's fine brows raised a fraction at this—how the hell did Potter suppose this?—but he just nodded airily, attention drawn back to his nails. "Why not?"

The doctor gave him a smile and finished writing his sentence, sitting up in the wooden chair. He straightened out a fold in his maroon sweater, petting the sleeve down and looking rather disdainfully at the open file that rested on his lap. _Why_ was there no information on Draco Malfoy? There was no way he could have had more than thirty (it looked) doctors and not have a shred of information on his summary. Harry had his MMPI _(1)_ however—something he was grateful for. The inventory had some interesting observations, which he had skimmed over; he hadn't read it in-depth yet. MMPI's were often long and bits were usually uninteresting, and he had stayed up quite late to read the psychopath's summary and record.

He frowned again, tapping the pen against the papers rhythmically. Harry sighed in resignation and started to dig through the sheets, looking for something. Draco scowled faintly at the sound of rustling papers—it got annoying after a while.

"Alright Mr. Malfoy, we'll have to embark on the series of standardized Rorscach tests… I'm sure you've done them before." He held a bundle of thick pages in his hands and the blond sighed. This Dr. Potter wasn't going to last a week…

"Just tell me what you see." Harry smiled stiffly at Draco's exasperated expression but held up the first page, which was flecked in black ink.

Malfoy resisted the urge to roll his eyes but looked at the inkblot carefully, examining it. It looked… like a tool?

"A hammer?" replied the convict, eyes roving expectantly for the next page. Harry jotted it down and held up another splash—black and red ink on white this time.

His lips curled into a slight sneer at the image—what he saw was painfully clear, and it probably wouldn't please the doctor either. Ah well. He wouldn't dare lie, would he?

"A screaming girl," he said with a touch of sadism, smiling as the doctor flinched—it wasn't exactly visible but he could see Potter's face grimace for a split second. It was fleeting—gone within a second, but Draco had seen it, and it was amusing. He knew all the doctors were humans and they all had what he lacked—a conscience. While he couldn't be bothered to take a second glance at someone he had killed, others gaped at him for being so cold-hearted—but it was all programmed, wasn't it? Human beings were manufactured to think and feel sympathy; they were given feelings and morals and guilt for a reason.

He liked being a psychopath, really. He'd rather be stuck in Mattewan for the rest of his life and have no remorse for his actions than to be some drooling, empathetic idiot who can't even stand seeing someone else in pain. It was _pitiful_ really, how some people operated. Charity and sympathy was for morons.

Harry's grip on his pen tightened considerably as he scrawled down a few more notes, holding up another page to cover his face from the convict. Malfoy's tone was slowly grating on him, and it would continue to do so in the next few weeks, much to Harry's chagrin. It was only the first session, for heaven's sakes! The doctor exhaled quietly, writing down a few more notes as Malfoy replied to the prompts. A sandwich… A black piano key… A dragon, someone's foot, a dining set, petunias, cauliflower and a pair of boxers.

After they had finished the set of Rorscach inkblot prompts, Harry set down his pen and pushed the papers back into his binder, staring resolutely at Malfoy. It was obvious the convict knew every trick in the book—he wouldn't be able to do anything that he had used on his former clients. No standardized tests, no inventories. Nothing. He would have to come up with newer methods to help treat the psychopath. It was interesting that he had to invent new ways of reaching Malfoy, but he had never even tried a patient with a rap sheet as long as Malfoy's or had a record of over thirty doctors. It made Harry curious how the killer could have ran amok for so long—he must have been great at hiding bodies or he was very good at covering his tracks. Or perhaps… both?

"Mr. Malfoy—Draco." Harry coughed, daring to look slightly sheepish as he called the impudent man by his first name, "I realize you don't want me here anymore than I, but I'm supposed to help you." Harry gave a tight-lipped smile that looked a bit too nervous for his own liking. "And I know that I'm just another doctor to you, and that you've done all the tests and put up with a lot of people in the past. But I'd appreciate it if you'd cooperate a bit more, all right? It'd really help."

Draco returned the smile, although his was just a bit more reptilian than the doctor's. How cute. Potter wanted him to _cooperate_. Fat chance of that. The speech was usually uttered by every single shrink that came in here, finding him a bit more challenging than their usual brain dead clients. It was at least a bit amusing how the doctor seemed to breaking down already—though Draco knew Potter would take a lot more blows before he finally split.

"Just another doctor? Oh, Potter, I don't think of you like that." His smile grew as he saw Harry frown subconsciously. The blond man wondered if Potter was too thick to pick up his newest innuendo, but apparently the clueless doctor had at least caught wind of it.

The brunet sighed and attempted to smile again—though this one didn't work as well. "So what _do_ you think me as?"

Malfoy was delighted the doctor had taken his bait. Well, it hadn't been much of _bait_, but the question must have piqued his interest. "A very interesting individual, with a few particularly outstanding attributes as well."

"Oh." He quirked a brow but looked faintly introspective, as if attempting to decode the strange reply. "Well Mr. Malfoy, I'm glad you think that way."

The blond chuckled but followed the doctor's moving hand with rapt attention. He was writing something down again—useless observations on his part anyways. It wasn't likely that they'd be used anyways—Draco's actions and behaviour rarely relinquished clues to why he acted the way he did and why he killed others.

After the frantic scribbling ended, Harry coughed to capture his patient's attention again. He was really waiting for the session to end… Not that there were requirements for his stay, but he felt 20 minutes might be cutting the line a bit short.

Malfoy only gave another half-smile and returned to the casual leisure of drowsing in the palate. Potter was fidgeting faintly, and he was casting nervous glances at his watch. What was this behaviour? It was subtle and would be difficult to notice if he hadn't meticulously done this a million times for various other shrinks. It was just a habit now. He could tell his observant gaze was making the doctor wince ever so slightly—a miniscule jarring movement whenever the doctor looked up, as if he was expecting something different.

"So… Mr. Malfoy—"

"Draco?" replied the blond smoothly, raising a brow at the doctor's polite, but rather timid manner. Well, timid was the wrong word. Cautious? There was almost a reluctance for the doctor to get to know him, but Malfoy knew better—Potter was a professional and would not—_could not?_—let himself become reluctant.

Potter gave a wry smile before it bloomed into a grin. It seemed rather genuine too, which was mildly surprising to the psychopath.

"I'm not sure if I can call you by your first name fully," replied Harry, "though, I'm willing to make a compromise. How about just Malfoy?" Even though it may have seemed strange and the doctor couldn't quite place his finger on the fact, but he felt slighted by calling his patient by his first name. Of course he'd use it to capture attention, but to refer to the psychopath with such familiarity… it frightened him a little. It was unreasonable, and he knew it, but there was no point in fighting it.

Draco shrugged impassively. "Alright." It was better than Mister, correct? The more dropped guards, the better.

The doctor nodded in approval before flipping through another set of papers. All was in order… Malfoy had no loss of orientation, no sickness, nothing to be noted. Doctor Granger had written down everything that was skin-deep about the Draco. The personal background and history were left blank, to his curiosity. He wouldn't touch on the subject of Malfoy's past then, not today. He wouldn't be ready.

"Okay, let's proceed like a normal session, shall we? Would you like to tell me… about any aspirations you had or have?" He gave a meaningful look at Draco, whose lips were curling steadily into a sneer. "I'd like serious answers only, Malfoy. '_Killing more people_' doesn't count."

"And who said killing people wasn't a serious aspiration?" The psychopath chuckled at the doctor's condescending expression, but attempted to think over the question. It was a rather intruding one though and an annoying one at that. He contemplated not answering it—but why piss off Potter so early on?

Truthfully, if the psychopath had permitted his father to live, he would have inherited the family business. Of course, he technically still did, but with quite a few murders on his criminal record and no chance of probation, there wouldn't be much of an inheritance. It was a shame really; the corporation would have flourished under his fingers.

"Running my father's company." Draco replied without skipping a beat. He had thought about it, but that was obviously the logical answer, and the one that usually came to mind when someone asked him the same question (which _had_ been asked quite a few times).

Harry nodded—it made sense. He was tempted to remark on Malfoy's father but thought better of it. _Leave it for another day_.

"Would you have enjoyed that? I mean, would it have been a family responsibility that you had to fulfill, or was it something you would have actually wanted to do?"

"I imagine I would have enjoyed it. I am rather adroit at business."

'_Ever inflating ego'. _Harry wrote down, making notes on Malfoy's replies. Geez… His opinion of himself only seemed to grow.

"I see." The doctor watched the psychopath from the corner of his eye. Hmm… What to do? Harry sighed and stopped writing, putting the paper and pen along on the table, accompanying Malfoy's records and folder. He had to attack this from another angle.

"Malfoy, I imagine you're unsatisfied with your living arrangements? I'm—"

"Who said I'm unsatisfied?" The blond gave an airy glance at the doctor, smirking slightly. Why did everyone assume he didn't like Mattewan? No, the place was like home to him. Of course it was dirty and under kempt, but it was still better than almost everywhere else.

Harry blinked. "You _like_ this place?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It protects me from the stupidity of the outside world."

"So, no interest of moving to a better clinic?"

"Not really."

Oh. Well, that was different. Draco Malfoy might be one of the few clients he had treated that had no interest in leaving where they were. Most others wanted to get out of the asylum and prove to the world that they were not, in fact, crazy.

"So… you'll stay at Mattewan for the rest of your life?"

Another shrug. "Why not?"

Harry worried the sleeve of his sweater. Let's try again. "Would you ever consider leaving the institute for a few days to see how the world is?"

Silver irises swivelled to focus on him; this deserved his attention apparently. "That's impossible, Potter." His voice was low and brittle, grey eyes hardening. It would have been a snarl if it had been uttered louder.

The doctor's eyes widened and he swallowed involuntarily. Had he finally hit a nerve?

"Don't get my fucking hopes up." Said the blond bitterly, eyes piercing. He looked a great deal angrier than he had a few moments ago. Yup, Harry had definitely hit a nerve. Though, he wasn't sure if he wanted to hit anymore now, considering Malfoy's reaction was rather… caustic.

"It's a possibility…" replied Harry weakly, attempting to loosen his collar. Why was he suddenly so nervous? "…of course, it's very possible you may get a trip if you cooperate."

"Bullshit."

Harry had always been told in all his classes, _if a patient starts to make you nervous, leave_. And that was just what he was going to do. Leave. Harry rose, collecting his stack of papers and pens off the table, refusing to look at the blond. He wasn't quite sure if Malfoy was still watching him, but there wasn't much doubt in his mind that he still was.

"Malfoy, please consider this question for your session tomorrow—do you abhor contact? I'll be asking you to respond tomorrow."

He clambered quickly out of the chamber, a few sheets scattering on the floor as he exited. Not good to become afraid of your patient, not good at all. The fact was that the place so lacked the usual regulations of an asylum—usually Harry would be guarded in a room with others watching to make sure the doctor came to no harm, and the patient was always hindered. But here… Malfoy could dispose of him so easily.

He could not have caught the convict's softening expression of comtemplation as the door closed.

Shaking his head in alarm, Harry frowned. Alright, stop thinking those things… Think about the session. The progress wasn't _great_… but it'd get better, right? Malfoy had already shown a response to a topic and he had relinquished a few facts. Try to be optimistic, Potter, come on.

As he left, he heard a few yelps around the corner.

"YOU GITS—can't you see it? I'm not insane—"

"Nurse Figg, do you have him?"

"I'm trying!! Please Mr—"

"LOOK! _Wingardium leviosa! _The book is floating—_LET ME GO YOU HAG_—I'm not crazy, look at the bloody book—"

"Please, you've got to go up to your room—give me the stick!"

Rather than staying to see what the commotion was, Harry scrambled to get out. He wasn't quite ready to face any other patients, though he felt unreasonably guilty leaving those two to take care of whoever it was… One sounded like an elderly woman, too. Geez.

Besides, he had a psychopath to unravel.

* * *

**(1) – MMPI**; Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory. A '_personality test'_ to determine traits shown by psychiatric patients. I may include Draco's file somewhere for you guys to see; it's very amusing. 


	4. Session 2: Birth Defects

**A/N**/MAY23/; ohmygod birth defects, I dunno. GO AWAI. I'm updating!! I can't believe I wrote so much today… it makes me tired. TTATT;

* * *

**Chapter 4  
**_Birth Defects  
_

_Psychiatric Summary of __MALFOY, DRACO, 154-AKQ__  
Age 26. Male. White. Single. Received at Mattewan Institute in 1999, AUGUST 23 after a sentence of life support for multiple counts of Manslaughter in New York and Wiltshire. No transfers to date.  
Prenatal: Father died at 62. Mother died at 59, client killed both at age 17.  
Natal: Born in Wiltshire, England, June 5, 1980. Normal birth.  
Preschool: Only child.  
School: Completed Grade 12.  
Occupation: None; used family savings after the death of his mother and father to live for two years before being sentenced.  
Physical: Ht 6'1" Wt 154lbs. Thin, but well fed. No records of doctoral sicknesses albeit for a fever three years ago. Healthy. Denies use of substances and drugs. No organ failure.  
Mental: Properly oriented, alert, shows no signs of delusions or neurotic manifestations. Absence of irrational thinking is noted. Shows curiosity and intellect. IQ 141  
Diagnosis: Psychopathic Personality Disorder, strain PCL-R FACTOR 2  
Names of previous doctors attached below.  
Criminal Record: Attached—General Grade of Crime is: S_

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Harry closed the file with a tinge of antipathy. _Malfoy_. One of the more twisted patients he was beginning to treat. He was, of course, a very stereotypical psychopath, but his criminal record made him one of the smarter, more cunning and more bloodthirsty than many of his previous clients. The doctor's eyes lingered on his parents' fate. _17… _He had been so young, but without a doubt, _he_ knew that Malfoy had known what he was doing.

The folder that contained his police report and summary did not, to Harry's chagrin; mention his vindictive and manipulative nature. It was only day two, and the doctor found he could not concentrate on the psychopath's rap sheet, despite the fact it was almost fifteen pages long, without any in-depth on any of the cases. His mind flickered back to Malfoy, sitting in the cell contently, a pacific look in those pale irises, worrying a tuft of hair as he stared blankly at his nails. The two images didn't mesh very well.

The doctor sighed with resignation. He couldn't build any resignation _now, _it was only day two. _How long had Malfoy been here?_ Harry stared at the date, subconsciously zoning out slightly. _1999_. _It was 2007 now. _Eight years.

Eight years... Had Malfoy been here this long? In the same cell, doing the same things everyday? Essentially... Wasting away? The doctor bit his lip, looking at the hospital label across the small file. The psychopath had nothing against it either; he didn't have a problem with staying in the cell for the rest of his life. However, Harry did. He hated to see anyone; even a _monster_ like Malfoy waste away. The blond was almost like a child, who was simply content with doing nothing and conforming to their parent's expectations. Or in this case, his own.

Harry frowned, placing the document on top of the mahogany drawers, next to a picture of his parents and a novel he had put aside. He was still in his pajamas, well,the ones that he wore on trips—if he were at home, the doctor would have stripped down to his verdant boxers and that would have been it. But nope, this was a ward; he decided to keep it sanitary. Light green with darker stripes, it fit rather well on him, and was very comfortable. He was feeling a bit gutsy today, and so, he pulled on a pair of slippers, grabbing a few papers and slipped down to the ward; ready to face Draco Malfoy and everything he had to offer.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**2nd Session  
May 10th**  
**Mattewan Psychiatric Institute  
Client: Draco Malfoy  
Diagnosed with: Psychopathy**

Harry's strange attire was only met with mild surprise as the doctor walked in, looking very much like he had just gotten out of bed. Bedhead. Although, the messy locks didn't differ much from his usual hairstyle, Draco could only smile when he saw him. The pinstriped pajamas added an unusual flair to Potter too; the blond appreciated it. Less drab than the usual suit and labcoat for sure.

Harry yawned, stretching, rearranging his documents briskly before looking up at his patient.

Oh... _shit_.

Malfoy apparently had _no_ problems with sanitary conditions in his room, as he was lying on the wooden palate clad in only black boxers, the thin gray blanket thrown on the floor with the rest of his clothes, which resulted in a large monochromatic heap of fabric. He enjoyed mornings; the early rays would stream in through the small window near the top of the wall, resulting in a little warmth, and Draco appreciated it. He found things looked better in light too.

Harry felt the blood rush to his cheeks for a split second, but he recovered quickly. Well, _this_ was interesting.

"Mr. Malfoy... please put on some clothes." said Harry, and he frowned as the voice that came out sounded a little more high-pitched than he would've liked. The brunet cleared his throat to drive out the slight panic he felt. There were quiet chuckles from his client as he heard the shuffle of material against skin and fabric, and when Harry turned around again, Malfoy was at least _half _clothed. He had pulled on the pair of dull bottoms, but hadn't picked up the top that accompanied it.

The doctor bit his lip and tried to glare, but it came out as a weak, watery scowl. _Fantastic_. Not the menacing professional look he had thought he had perfected.

"Mr. Malfoy, I won't tell you again. Please put on some clothes."

Draco sighed and cast a disinterested glance at his doctor, "Don't feel like it. It's warm right now, I'll put it on when I feel cooler."

The raven-haired man sighed, but felt his eyes stray towards the pale man again. The convict was humming gently, eyes closed with his arms behind his head. He had good genes. Harry promised to himself he'd pull up a photo of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy for later… They must have been beautiful people to conceive Draco Malfoy.

Curious irises traced his client's jaw line, down the elegant neck and down the long limbs and faintly muscled torso. There _may_ have been a sculpted body, long ago before Malfoy started to waste away here. But the blond had a swimmer's body, lithe and lean, and nowhere as thickset as Harry was, even though, the doctor was slightly gangly as well.

The humming stopped.

"Doctor, are you checking me out?" chimed the psychopath, an amused smirk pulling on his lips, one pale eye opened.

"You wish." Replied Harry coolly.

"Hmmm, what was all that staring then?"

"Careful analyzation."

"Really? So you do it with all patients, then?"

"Yes."

Draco shook his head. _Denial_. He closed his eyes again, "Are we going to start?"

"I was just going to suggest it." Answered Harry with a professional smile, though it was lost on Malfoy. "Glad to see you're so eager."

The blond grunted.

He flipped through the papers, looking for the tell-tale red file. Locating it, the doctor pulled out Malfoy's summary and browsed it quickly, looking for something he could ask.

"Do you remember your parents?"

A pause.

"Not really."

"Do you miss them?"

"Not really."

Harry scowled.

"Could you elaborate?"

"Not really."

The doctor pushed up the thin spectacles, giving an cool glower at the convict on the bed, not that he could see it or anything behind lidded eyes. Was he just feeling more uncooperative today than usual? The spectrum for Malfoy's emotional range didn't exactly exist. Harry frowned, gazing at the Draco, who was simply smiling impassively, not even moving. Harry realized subconsciously that it was sort of infuriating that the blond wasn't even paying attention to him anymore; the rapt absorption he had taken on Harry was gone, replaced by some sort of blasé boredom.

"You can't use that for everything," said the doctor, his patient psychiatrist façade wearing thin.

"Not really."

Malfoy smirked. This was too easy.

"What do you need, Malfoy?"

"Sit next to me, Doctor."

Something or someone moved, the sound of the chair scraping as it shifted making the psychopath open his eyes, his interest piqued. A shuffle of papers. Draco looked up, and found his eyes staring back into bright green. He smiled lazily.

"Happy?" asked Harry. The palate was extremely uncomfortable. He was used to his King-sized back home in New York.

"Very." replied the blond, his smile blossoming into a satisfied smirk. He had closed his eyes again; Harry frowned faintly, but decided not to press on it. Why did this seem so similar to giving a spoiled child exactly what he wanted? Anyways, Malfoy seemed to be in a better mood now, there was no point in ruining it since he had moved over here.

The doctor watched calmly as Draco moved slightly onto his side, trying not to radiate distress. The fact that he was treating Malfoy, a convicted _murderer_ and all around menace in his own cell and his own grounds was a little frightening. Most of the time, they were in _his_ office on _his_ territory, and he could call the guards without delay. It was extremely unlikely that Malfoy would hurt him so early on, but it was always alarming that a nurse or a guard would take _minutes_ to arrive.

What would Malfoy gain from keeping him here? He couldn't figure it out. He didn't know what the convict wanted from this strained relationship.

Actually, Harry was having a hard time trying to figure out what Malfoy wanted, if anything at all. He seemed disinterested and apathetic about his surroundings, about treatments, and to Harry's disdain, about the doctor; himself. He wasn't looking for a way out of the Institute, he wasn't looking for a probation, or even to see the sights outside the Mattewan Psychiatric Institute—Draco Malfoy had no aspirations, no goals. Nothing.

He was essentially _dead_.

The fact was rather frightening really, as it gave Harry no tools or weapons to help the blond at all, which left him rather naked and bare in terms of ability. He might as well confirm it.

"Do you feel unsatisfied with being here? Like there's something else you'd like to do?"

_I'd like to sleep with you_, thought Malfoy, the silent and rather blunt innuendo lost on Potter as he feigned an introspective look.

"Well... actually... I'd like something."

Harry's brows raised, and he hung on the psychopath's word hungrily. Was this a breakthrough?

"Tom Jones' sex bomb track? Oldies are awesome stuff."

The doctor frowned and relented. Really… what _was_ he expecting?

Draco felt his insides split with internal laughter and tried to contain it, suppressing his snickers. What the hell did Potter think he was going to say? _Oh, I feel like I want to get out of here, sometimes I start to cry about my dead parents and I try to find something to ease my pain...!! Sometimes I wish someone would just hug me!!_

"Malfoy, if you're not taking this seriously, I'm leaving."

"Oh, but I am." replied the blond airily, opening one pale eye to give a meaningful glance at his doctor.

Harry caught it sceptically. "Alright, shall we proceed?"

There was a slight 'mmh' sound that he took for a yes.

"You're just like all of my old doctors." Draco's tone was calm and carefree, both eyes open now, analyzing Potter carefully. The man was certainly very interesting, at least face-value anyways. Harry noticed his stare and scowled faintly.

"Really? How many doctors have you had?"

Changing the subject was always a good idea.

Draco shrugged carelessly, watching the doctor look at him curiously. "I don't know... A lot. Maybe thirty or so?"

"In 8 years?"

"Yeah."

There was a moment of silence where Harry processed this information. Around 30 psychiatrists in 8 years? That was harsh. Provided Draco hadn't driven out or killed all of them, the doctor almost felt a smidgen of sympathy for him. Of course, it was gone in a few seconds, happily replaced with the _correct _feeling of disgust.

"I should start compiling now," he said, pushing up his glasses up onto the thin nose, "it'll help me deal with insight and connecting with you."

Draco shrugged. He wouldn't be answering anyways.

Harry noticed that he, himself was actually perspiring a little, though if it was from the heat of the cell (as the sun rays were hitting him dead on) or if he was stressed... wasn't discernible. He fumbled with a few papers and drew out a blank sheet.

"Do you remember the first person you killed?"

Silence.

Draco shrugged again, and Harry fumed slightly.

"Malfoy?"

The doctor waited.

"…Draco?"

Silence. This time, no shrug, no movement. Just a small, languid smile and... warmth.

"Draco, answer please, or at least tell me why you're avoiding the questions." A pause. "I did move over here for you."

_Oh yeah, you moved about two feet for me, thanks doctor. Such an incredible effort. _The blond sighed, musing the thought of replying in his head. If he just continued to be passive, Potter would leave. He knew he would. Pushing his buttons could get him slightly frustrated; that was fun to see and all, but would just result in wonderful pissyness that the doctor exudes when embarrassed. Hmm. What to do?

"Yes. You probably know it's my parents, right? You've read the file."

Harry looked faintly surprised. "You've read your own summary? Is that even allowed?"

"I do believe Doctor Granger was the one who compiled the document; she presented it to me before her resignation."

_Just another one of his 30 doctors then_, thought Harry with sarcasm.

"Alright. So your parents were the first people you killed. What… were they like?"

Draco scowled. What did Potter expect? That his parents were some nutters who raised him this way? Not likely.

"Apathetic. They knew I was intelligent, had no concern that I didn't really seem to know wrong from right. They were good parents. I wasn't angry when I killed them, if that's what you're asking." He replied candidly, tone jaded. Again, with that cool, bland tone, like he was reading from a textbook, or reciting for a class. It was a chore.

"Then why did you do it?"

"I felt like it."

"You just felt like killing your parents?" The doctor looked perplexed by this. He had thought Malfoy had been spurred angrily by something his parents said; perhaps his ability or schoolwork hadn't risen to their standards, and he had just lost control. However, this apparently wasn't so.

"Yeah, no reason. Is there something wrong?"

"So you had no conscience to start out with?"

Draco shook his head and said rather lazily, "Not that I can remember."

See, _this_ was weird. Psychopathy was developed by social and parental problems and corruptions. It was very, very rare, perhaps even non-existent that a child was born and raised without a conscience, as a conscience and a knowledge of wrong and right came from the specific niche in society that you were born into. Psychopathy wasn't supposed to be a birth defect—that made no sense.

Harry reminded himself to ask Dumbledore about this later and proceeded to the next question, feeling considerably better than Malfoy had finally told him _something_.

"Have you ever felt guilty or remorseful? Any regrets?"

Malfoy threw him an exasperated look, "No." If he never had a conscience, how the hell would he _ever_ feel guilty?

"Have you ever considered leaving Mattewan?"

Hmm. That was an interesting question. Did he really want to leave? Yes, this institute wasn't exactly the most livable place ever—he despised most of the people who worked here, and the other morons who howled or made a racket at night.

But it felt oddly like home.

"Yes." replied the Malfoy after an inquisitive glance from his doctor. He had. He maybe thought about it once a year, leaving the small chamber and feeling more sunlight than just a block on a part of his body, seeing more than just gray and white. It wasn't like he _missed_ the outside world, he couldn't even remember leaving it. It was just simple curiosity.

"What aspects of the outside world do you want to see or do?"

"I don't know,"—simple responses were best. At least he wasn't lying yet. "Probably find something to do. I get bored easily, but I've lived with it, obviously."

Harry felt a pang of sympathy. Caged for 8 years here, no doctors that were useful enough to help him, or even care. No doubt he'd be just like the previous ones too. Obviously he was a cold-blooded killer... But he got the feeling that Malfoy was being kept like an animal. Not to say that Draco didn't enjoy it—he seem to relish the small cell and everything in it.

"…Is there anything you'd want to do out there? That you can think of?"

Draco paused. He didn't really know, and could neither think of anything or had any specific wants.

"I guess… play a tune on the piano? I haven't even touched keys… in so long."

The doctor felt a pang of sympathy. He attempted to shove it down, but it was starting to grow like a tumour.

_Damnit_.

"What if I brought a piano in here?"

The silver eyes flickered to him. What was it in those irises? Was it bewilderment? It certainly wasn't the mild, infuriating surprise that he usually saw, but something softer... Harry filed it away in his brain to analyze later.

"Why would you do that Potter? You don't gain anything from it, unless you think my strokes on chromatic keys helps you understand me. No, that's something completely alienated from your case on me."

Harry scowled for what seemed like the umpteenth time. "Yeah, because I'm a heartless wench of a doctor that only wants to exploit this case and rip money from Dumbledore and sell the movie rights."

"That's what I thought." Replied Malfoy with a small smile.

"Anyways." Said Harry definitively, "I'll go to Dumbledore with the piano idea, but I don't know if a nice one will fit in this goddamn cell… I think I'll conclude this session for today, Malfoy. We'll continue tomorrow."

_How abrupt_, thought Draco with a slight pout. _Didn't even let me get a look at anything. Harry, Harry, why are you so boring?_

The doctor started to compile his many documents, scowling as one fluttered to the ground. Draco reached for it, but Harry pulled it away sharply before smiling at Draco in an unflattering way.

"Thank you, Malfoy." He said with perhaps a bit too much effort.

"Bye," replied Draco softly, a small smile curling on his lips as Harry exited. He had done good today, despite the fact he had relinquished some information. Not prominent ones, but it still vexed him slightly that he had given anything up. But still, the trade was good—the chance of playing the piano again for some well-used facts.

Harry frowned as he closed the door with a dull _click_, looking at the leaflet in his hand. Why had he jerked? He had instinctively pulled away from Malfoy because his brain had sent warnings already—Malfoy could not be trusted.

This certainly couldn't be good for someone who was trying to crack him.


	5. Session 3: He Needs His Space

**A/N**/_MAY24_/ WOAHREWRITE. The story basically changes. A lot. Blah I'm inspired.

* * *

**Chapter 5  
**_He Needs His Space_

He had to see Dumbledore.

_Goddamnit_, thought the doctor irritably, gathering up his files, which were placed haphazardly everywhere. He looked around the apartment, attempting to locate his small SLVR cell phone to call the secretary to get an appointment in with the Head Doctor.

There were a few things to be discussed.

Finally stumbling on the silver device, he punched in the secretary's number from a slip she had given him a few days before on how to reach her.

"Mattewan Psychiatric Institute; McGonagall speaking. How may I help you?"

"Ms. McGonagall, it's Dr. Potter. Is there any chance I could get an appointment with Dr. Dumbledore today?"

A pause.

"I'll put you on hold, Mr. Potter, please let me confirm."

The beeping resumed as the secretary placed him on hold, and Harry sighed. There had _better_ be an appointment today; Dumbledore had assured him gingerly that he could see the dean whenever he wanted. He had questions, after all, pertaining to the Malfoy case.

Another beep.

"Yes Mr. Potter, he says you can go up to see him immediately. Is there anything else?"

"No, thanks."

A click, and she had hung up. Harry closed the phone, hurriedly placing it in his pocket before taking a pencil and exiting the room.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Five minutes later, an elevator, two beautiful rooms with mahogany furniture and a particular crimson bird later, Harry sat in the Head Doctor's office. It was luxuriously furnished—albeit a bit messy in some places with the sheer amount of tomes and books sprawled all over the place—it was still beautiful, however. The furniture was high quality, with deep maroon plush and carvings in the dark wood. Dumbledore had maps and old documents thrown around the place, stacks of unknown volumes and secrets holding up massive oak shelves replete with literary works. The large, modern computer looked out of place situated on his oak desk in the elegant room.

"I have heard you wanted to see me, Dr. Potter?" The question was inquisitive and light, but underneath it, Harry could detect concern and apprehension.

"Yes," he replied bluntly, staring the Head Doctor straight in the eyes. He felt rather small in that intimidating electric blue gaze, but met it anyways. "I have questions about Mr. Malfoy, particularly concerning his past."

Dumbledore looked slightly more relieved but nodded and rose a silver brow, "Anything specific, doctor?"

"Is there any more on Malfoy's past than just this file? I am not saying it's poorly compiled, not at all. But there's minuscule information, and frankly, I'm not sure how to approachmy client since he's heard all the angles."

Dumbledore frowned slightly, Harry could see the edges of his lips curve softly downward and the he shook his head, tone grave.

"I'm sorry Mr. Potter, there's very little compiled on Mr. Malfoy at all. Very few psychiatrists have gotten more than face-value from him; he does not relinquish information easily." He pursed his lips and gave Harry a knowing stare; "I'm surprised you were able to get anything from him yesterday. Perhaps you are what your achievements tell me."

Harry said nothing. He really had accomplished nothing yesterday, nothing that Malfoy really did not want to give up and in turn, Harry had not really spent too much effort himself on the session. The Head Doctor gave a small chuckle, but looked somewhat sombre at the same time.

"I'm sorry doctor, but there is little I can tell you about Draco other than what is in the file… He has outwitted 32 of the world's best doctors… Don't let him make you the 33rd."

Harry sighed.

"Doctor, what can you tell me about his parents? I'm sure you know more than just their names."

Dumbledore looked rather introspective, attempting to rethink, "Hmm. They were beautiful people." Well, that was a simple confirmation on what Harry had suspected, anyways. Dumbledore's voice was casual despite the fact he was discussing a serial killer's parents and not the weather. "A bit cold, perhaps. But they seemed like good parents even so. I'm sorry Mr. Potter, I don't have too much more information about them."

"Alright, thanks anyway Doctor." He gave a small smile at the wizened man and stood up to leave, still clutching the red file.

Dumbledore paused, but started to speak quietly, "Harry—" He hesitated, and the doctor stopped at the mention of his name. "—be careful."

Harry nodded, stepping out of furnished office. Be careful? He wasn't an idiot.

—wait.

How did Dumbledore know about Malfoy's parents? They were killed before Malfoy was transferred to Mattewan. Harry paused. These pieces didn't fit into the puzzle. Malfoy… killed his parents at age 17. He was sentenced at age 19. And somehow, there had been that two year gap that nothing had seemed to happen in.

Something was amiss.

He had to investigate. And Harry had a rather ominous feeling that he wouldn't like what he'd find.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Hmmm_… Draco smiled, twirling a thin green fibre around his index finger, watching it unravel and twist around the digit. A string from Potter's pajamas. He was very prone to doing this; a repeated motion that hypnotized him when thinking.

If he had been less intelligent, it would have been called a daze.

He was thinking to himself. And of course, whenever a psychopath thinks, it's always bad news. He was thinking about a certain doctor, and wondering what could happen to him... or what _would_ happen to him.

Draco was always pleasantly surprised by Potter. Whether it was his clothes or the way he carried himself, or even those hesitant moments where he was caught between being professional and _human_ were interesting.

Being surprised in Draco's fashion was synonymous with completely shocked in someone else's. The blond's emotional range was severely blunted, so for anything to take him by surprise was, well, rather miraculous. He calculated everything to the extent where he could almost _predict_ his various psychiatrist's next move, and he manipulated and used this to his advantage.

Potter, on the other hand, would need some work. The dark-haired man with his pools of emerald fire were unpredictable as… well… Draco didn't know what. He had known exactly what his life was going to be like since he was 4 years old and staring up at his parent's expectant faces. He could probably map out everything that he would do for the next 80 years or so.

But the trouble was, Draco didn't like trivial things, he didn't like knowing what would happen or what someone is about to say before they say it. He didn't like being smart enough to calculate possibilities and actions, though it proved useful. He didn't like being _bored_. He found that he got bored very often, especially since he had nothing to feed his intellect. Draco frowned, perplexed and a little envious. He was not a genius. He was conceited and knew he was intelligent and by no means unattractive, but a genius? No. Simply someone with too much time and an interest in manipulation.

Since his calculations and equations were not working on Harry James Potter, Draco decided that he liked him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Flip_… The sound of paper flipping was heard in the Library, as nurses nearby frowned at him. The Librarian, Mrs. Pince watched him irritably before returning her gaze back to the small tome she had been reading.

Harry was searching for something, browsing each page of the 1999 records. Macon… Majin… Macdonald… Maelstrom…Makings… Malfoy! The doctor stopped at the page, green eyes searching meticulously. Date of birth… Know that. Full name… Know what. He skimmed through the page, annoyance growing tenfold by the second. He knew all this already! None of it was a surprise. That Dr. Granger must have looked through his records and put it all down. He read the rest of the page, noting the slight information of the judge's verdict, "Guilty but Mentally Ill". Alright… convicted January 2nd, 1999… 73 counts of manslaughter. Trial ended July 28th, 1999… Pretty normal so far, the long court appearance probably resulting from the fact that Malfoy most likely denied all charges until evidence was finalized.

Harry switched over to the thicker tome of Hospital check-ins and check-outs. It should be here…

'_MALFOY, DRACO. 08-23-97. 11:03 AM arrival. -- departure.'_

There it was. He arrived on August 23rd, 1999 into Mattewan and had never left. Nothing abnormal about that.

Harry did a double take on the script before placing a slender finger on the date in the logbook. Trial ended July 28th… That had a delay of almost an entire _month_ unaccounted before he was transferred to Mattewan. The fact that whatever Judge had not had Malfoy immediately transported to the institute was discomforting.

He looked through the red file as well, for the police reports and criminal records. There was something weird going on; Harry could feel it, his body activating goosebumps on his skin. The brunet flipped through the police reports until he found the ones he needed—_Narcissa Malfoy, (maiden Black), body found March 26th 1999, with Lucius Malfoy's body… presumed from decomposition evidence to have been kept or buried somewhere for approximately thirty-six months… _That meant Malfoy probably killed them in 1997? And hid the bodies. Harry swallowed. _Living in a house with your dead parents' bodies for three years…_ That was utterly disgusting.

Harry closed the file. There was nothing else to read.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**3rd Session  
May 11th**  
**Mattewan Psychiatric Institute  
Client: Draco Malfoy  
Diagnosed with: Psychopathy**

As he approached the smaller rooms in the '_Long-Term_' wing, Harry was contemplating on what to ask Malfoy today. There were too many holes in the psychopath's history to really try to dig deep into them—it was not safe exploring into an area you have no idea what you'll find.

The doctor's fingers subconsciously traced the smooth wall, towards the sealed door. With numerous holes… there were various known facts that didn't seem to be quite right either. They were like puzzle pieces that formed the same picture, but none of the pieces fit in the right way.

Harry opened the door, punching in the security code into the pad. The door swung open and the doctor's eyes found to his dismay, met a woman with dark, chocolate-coloured hair and a nurse's uniform. Trouble was, she was directly on top of his client, who seemed to be rather amused at the intrusion. The nurse frowned and got off, taking with her the tray she had been delivering and buttoned her top briskly, giving a glare to the doctor as she left.

"Bye Pansy," called the blond, almost cackling at the stunned expression the doctor wore, but smiled up at Harry. "Morning, doctor."

The brunet smiled back, but was sweet as saccharin. He set his bundle of papers and his cellphone down before looking back at the closed door.

"Who was that?"

"Pansy." Replied Malfoy with a wistful smile. "My nurse. She's kind of cute, right?"

"You have affairs with all your personnel?" asked Harry casually, taking a seat opposite the blond.

Draco rose a fine brow. "Affair?"

"She's married."

"She doesn't have a ring."

Harry shrugged. "She has one in the wards. Then again, maybe I don't know what I'm talking about."

The psychopath frowned before answering the original question. "…No, I do not have affairs with all my personnel."

"Really? I must suppose they're rather unattractive for you to _not_ be hitting it."

Malfoy eyed him with a crooked grin, irises roving over his outfit. "Not at all."

The doctor coloured slightly, and hastily cleared his throat. "Alright, let's start the session. How does Dumbledore know you? Or your family?"

The convict froze minutely, eyes snapping to Harry.

"Why, doctor… that's an awfully revealing dress shirt you're wearing."

Harry looked down and pulled on a collar. "How so? I thought I picked it out pretty ni—"

"Either way—" interrupted Draco, "—you're looking very nice today, doctor."

Harry decided to let it go. The innuendos shouldn't get to him… they were just cheap come-ons made to make him nervous and embarrassed.

_Yeah, but they're working pretty damn well._

And what was that whole blatant subject change for? But it would probably be better not to pursue Dumbledore as a topic, then…

"Do you remember your old house, Malfoy? In Wiltshire?"

Draco considered the question. "Yes, I do. I was there for 17 years, you expect me to forget it?"

Harry tried to control his scowl. "Did you like the house?"

"It was good enough, I suppose."

The blond scowled, picking off a speck of dust off his sleeve._ At least Potter got distracted from his original question… How did he find out there were ties between me and Dumbledore? Potter… stop sneaking. It's going to get you killed._

"What was your favourite room of the house?"

"What's with the boring questions, Potter?" retorted the blond, picking at his finger nails in boredom. "Entertain me."

"That's not my job, Malfoy." Replied the doctor flatly, taking his glasses off to clean them with his shirt.

"What _is_ your job, Mr. Potter?" asked the blond in a falsely inquisitive voice. "I can't imagine it could be a doctor, considering you're doing a poor job at that."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe I'm a bad doctor. I can't think about anything that you could benefit from me admitting that." He put his glasses back on, and was alarmed to see his SLVR in Draco's long fingers.

"What the hell—Malfoy, you're not allowed to touch that!" He attempted to snatch the small cell from the convict, who simply dodged the swipe. His eyes glittered with a strange delight. "Dr. Harry Potter is a real social animal, hmm? Lots of girls here. I bet you're hitting all of these ladies at the same time."

"Malfoy! For your information, I've ne—" Harry stopped himself from speaking any further, backing up and glowering at the psychopath. "Please, may I have it back?"

Draco's eyebrows raised an bare quarter of an inch before he grinned. "What is this? Doctor Harry Wild Man Potter isn't all that wild? I never imagined you'd be a virgin, doctor… now… let's see who's on your speed dial…"

Pressing the 1 on the pad, the caller ID appeared on the screen, a ringing blooming in Malfoy's ear.

"Ahhh, Ginny is it? Must be important, if she's number one on your list."

Harry lunged and Malfoy cut again, rushing to the opposite corner of the cell.

The tone clicked.

'_Hey Harry, what's up?_'

Draco's grin grew wider. He had never expected her to actually _pick up_.

'Hello? Is this Ginny?'

'_Who is this?_' The woman paused, the faint crackle of long-distance static making itself heard,_ 'How do you have Harry's phone?_'

'Oh, I'm just fooling around. He's next to me, you know, in bed.'

'_You should give it ba—wait. In bed? You… you sound like a man.'_

'What else would I—' Another lunge. Doctor Potter looked a bit red. '—be? He told me he had only eyes for men—'

The phone was ripped out of his hands as Harry tackled the convict from behind, pressing the phone to his ear.

'Ginny?!' said Harry, panting slightly.

'_Harry… I hope I'm not disturbing anything—'_

'No no, Malfoy's being immature,' replied the doctor with a sigh, 'he took the phone. We're not in bed, we're in his cell, I'm treating him—'

"Why are you hiding our love, Potter?" asked the blond wickedly, shoving the doctor back into his chair with force, "You said you loved me! You bastard!"

Harry grimaced, pushing the man's limbs away. 'Sorry Ginny, I gotta go.' He said hastily into the phone, closing it and shoving it into a pocket.

"That," he said when he regained breathe, "was downright stupid. You're acting like a jealous 12-year old." He shot a dark glare at the blond. "_You_ also have to learn the concept of god damn personal space and items."

"Awww," clucked the blond with a sneer, "did mean Docty Potty get angry at poor wittle crazy Draco?" He offered a challenging look at the brunet, but his eyes were shut.

"I'm leaving." Replied Harry. "You had the chance to further this session, and to help yourself, but you didn't. So I'm leaving instead of dealing with this bullshit." He started to gather his papers.

"Potter."

Harry turned. _An apology, perhaps?_

"What time is it?"

The doctor rolled his eyes. _Of course not. _"10:54."

"Thank you." Said the psychopath mockingly, giving Harry a parallel of his own saccharin-filled smile. It looked a great deal more reptilian than the doctor's had. If he had the right timing... Figg should be coming around right... about... now.

Harry opened the sealed door as Draco yelled behind him. "You said you loved me!"

The elderly nurse that was walking past the room gave Harry a strange look as the doctor exited the cell.

Potter slammed the door behind him, drowning out the sounds of soft laughing that had arisen from the room, from a _very _amused psychopath.


	6. Session 4: A Touch Could Set You on Fire

**A/N:** AHHHHHHHH, my fingers are cramping. :( BUT I HAVE INSPIRATION!

And I should be doing math.

* * *

**Chapter 6  
**_A Touch Could Set You On Fire_

Draco was feeling rather unsatisfied. With Potter? Not really. With himself? Yes.

Yesterday… had been strange.

Was that the right word?

He had acted… very spontaneously. He did not typically act like a scandalized 12-year old child, and neither did he make _contact_ with any of his doctors. Yesterday was one of those days you looked back in horror because you cannot, for the life of you, figure out why you acted in such a manner.

And he had laughed. In mirth, not spite. It had been _ages_, possibly years since he had done so..

And Potter had walked out. Malfoy really couldn't see why he was that angry… the damage he had caused with a few words was nothing, and could not do any irreparable damage to the doctor's ego.

Pissed off Potter however how petty, was a turn-on. The bright green eyes on him, the air of discontent.

Hmm.

Something had sparked within him though. It wasn't calculated nor was it expected.

Yesterday had made him feel… alive.

It was a very bad sign.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Harry was going crazy.

Or at least, that's how it seemed. He had woken up from a very poorly inspired nightmare of Malfoy pushing him in the middle of an important psychological convention and spilling coffee all over Rufus Scrimgeour, who was one of the top practitioners in the world, as well as the author of The Thought Delusion.

It was more terrifying than death, to be honest.

The doctor swore, wondering if the dreams were going to continue. Waking up in a cold sweat at two in the morning dreaming about nasty politicians and embarrassing scenarios and all were pleasant but Harry would appreciate if they just went away and let him sleep till at least seven. Really.

Muttering under his breath, the embarassed doctor considered calling Ginny. Would she be up by now? It was 8… He could go to a café and call her and feel a shitload better afterwards. Going with this idea, Harry got up from the bed, going through his drawers for some decent clothing. Let's see… Hmm, a black sweater and some light jeans? Not that bad of a combination. He got dressed rather quickly, picking up his cell, the room and car keys from the drawer, casting a quick glance at his parents.

_Mom, dad… I miss you guys so much…_ He smiled a bit sadly as he pulled on a pair of thick gray socks, rushing for the door. It wasn't that cold, was it? Harry shrugged, caring less. He'd be in the SUV most of the time anyways. He slipped out of the room, door locking with an audible _click_.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ten minutes of dodging traffic later, Harry found his way to a small, neat Italian café called La Luce. It was probably within walking distance of Mattewan but he had felt superiorly lazy today; he hadn't had the energy to walk anywhere since he started dealing with Malfoy. He sipped a dark roasted coffee with two creams added, waiting as the ring in his ear became increasingly annoying. The doctor scowled, but it slid off his face when a _click _was heard, and a woman's voice rang over the phone.

"Harry, calling again?"

"Hey Gins," he said into the phone, feeling quite a bit better already. Hooray for supportive best friends.

"How's the psychopath treating you?" She asked warmly, and Harry grinned despite himself.

"Arrrgghh Gins, my patient's so goddamn annoying," he replied sullenly, a bit of a pout in his voice. Ginny could envision it for herself, and she smiled in her morning brew.

"Well, that's what you get…"

"It's beginning to bleed into my dreams," he said rather tiredly, and he heard her chuckles over the phone.

"Take some tea before bed then."

"Tea doesn't cure angry convention leaders," Pouting again. Ginny wished there was a way she could squeeze someone's cheeks over the phone. He sounded so tired and cute. Honestly.

"Aww." She clicked her tongue in sympathy, "So how's Buffalo?"

"The traffic's vicious." He replied dryly, and he heard the woman laugh.

"You sure it's not just you?"

Harry chuckled, "Shut up."

They chatted casually for another hour, about the weather, about her new decor, about just normal things that didn't involve killing or psychopaths or anything mentally insane. It was nice. The redhead had to go though, sadly, for another day of her nursing apprenticeship. After she had hung up, the doctor felt much more rejuvenated and he hummed to himself when he got back into the SUV, _almost _ready for another helping of Malfoy. He sighed when he closed to door of the vehicle, staring at himself in the mirror. It was going to be a long day…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**4th Session  
May 12th  
Mattewan Psychiatric Institute  
Client: Draco Malfoy  
Diagnosed with: Psychopathy  
**  
As Harry entered Malfoy's chambers, he frowned at yesterday's events. Stupid immature brat, thought the doctor viciously, allowing himself one scathing remark. He turned in surprise as he saw Malfoy, completely dressed, sitting attentively like a student in school, except he was a serial killer and this was his cell. He smiled when Harry walked in, which the doctor tried to return but it just came out in some sort of weird contorting of his lips, so he stopped.

"You look tired today," said the blond lazily, eyeing his doctor, who scowled and blushed slightly. Nurse Figg had asked him some very peculiar questions about his relationship with 'the patient in room 58'. Embarrassing, to say the least.

Harry didn't say anything, but pulled a few printed sheets from the red file, and Draco rolled his eyes. _If those were questionnaires, I'm going to shoot someone, and it's probably not going to be myself_.

The doctor stopped, giving Malfoy a rueful, definitive look. "Alright. These are questions. I've decided since you like information about me, and I need information about you, whenever you answer a question, I will too."

Draco raised a brow. _Damn_. That was a rather good ploy—he would enjoy learning about Mr. Potter. He didn't like releasing information almost as much as he liked learning things. Hmm.

"Alright," replied Malfoy nonchalantly.

"Give this a ch—wait, what?" Harry asked, sounding surprised. He had really never expected this to work. "Are you serious?" Didn't Malfoy have some obsession with keeping all his secrets to himself?

"Why not?"

Harry shrugged, and started to read.

"Uh… who was your best friend in high school?"

The blond paused, thinking. "A guy named Zabini. He was rather interesting, rather powerful. He owes me a few things - a couple favors if you will. I think he was the one who got me into Tom Jones." Malfoy chuckled dryly, thinking of the singer. Harry frowned, reminding himself of that _Sex Bomb_ ploy Malfoy had pulled a few days ago… Zabini? Italian?

"You know Ginny." Said Harry, remembering that he had to answer them as well.

"That's your best mate? I thought she was some convenient hooker."

"No! Not mate. Definitely not a hooker! _Friend_. There's a difference."

Malfoy shrugged, a tinge annoyed at Potter's oblivity; hadn't he heard of the English slang before? "Mate equals friend in England, don't get your panties in a knot."

"I've never been to England," Harry stated flatly, running a long finger down the sheet.

"Did you have a girlfriend in high school?"

Draco threw him an inquisitive stare. "Wanting to know my love life Potter?"

The doctor coloured slightly and shook his head, glaring calmly at Malfoy. "Yeah, everyone does. Apparently, everyone also wants to know if any girls you've been with ended up dead, too."

The blond snorted, "As if. I can't locate the girls I've been with; neither can I locate the girls I've knocked up. Seriously Potter, think these things through. And no—I didn't. Well, I can't remember their names anyways."

The raven-haired man frowned and realized Malfoy had answered already, "Yeah, I did. Her name was Cho Chang, she was nice.. but I dunno, we didn't connect very well…"

"Oh. Hmm." replied Draco shortly, storing that fact away. "One girlfriend Potter? I can't imagine you got laid with just that."

"You seem to think I didn't get laid at all," replied Harry calmly, looking down the list.

"Do you like scarves?"

_Weird one_. Whatever. "Scarves are for fags."

"I like scarves!"

"Then you're a fag. Really, doctor, it's one plus one equals two." He grinned at the man's shocked face, and returned to humming in his head, since Potter didn't like it when he hummed within ear shot.

"Most embarrassing thing you've ever had happen to you?"

"Boner in gym class," replied Draco smoothly, smirking as Harry frowned.

Harry hesitated.

"Pig."

The blond just sneered.

"Threw up in the middle of biology," said the doctor sullenly, remembering he had to reply, flipping the page again. _How the hell does he relate everything to sex? It's almost a talent._

"One thing that you gave up."

"Playing the piano."

Harry paused. That was interesting. He picked the piano out of everything he's given up? Then again… the instrument seemed like something that was rather important to him.

"Running."

Draco opened an eye, the silver iris turning to look at him with lazy interest. "Running?"

"Yeah, I used to do it all the time… It was probably the closest thing a person can be to flying. No time for it now… I'm just lazy and old."

The blond chuckled and licked his lips, much to the distress of the doctor. Though, it meant nothing except his lips were dry, the raven-haired man was still horrified as his eyes drew to the pink tongue and full lips…

—Oh god.

Harry blinked, throat dry, feeling slightly disoriented. Oh god, what had just happened? Did he just—

No. Well, fine, he did. But it wouldn't happen again—right?

Malfoy raised another brow, watching the doctor recover. Hmm. He smiled, trying to hide the malice. "You're staring again, doctor." He said it with naïveté, voice innocent, though secretly he was cackling at Potter's state.

"What? No, I wasn't—" Harry started, looking faintly surprised. "Again? I don't do staring, Malfoy."

The blond nodded solemnly, in scepticism.

"I analyze."

Draco was tempted to grin. "Right."

_Let's move on._ "Did you have a pet?"

"Nope."

"Me neither. Mom didn't particularly like them and Dad wanted a deer... so, no."

"What kind of grades did you get in school?"

"Top A's for everything."

Harry furrowed his brows. "Everything?"

Malfoy's lips curled into a smug smirk, "I was, and still am rather intelligent."

The doctor scoffed, making his client frown slightly in mock annoyance. "What, Potter? Being a psychopath hinders your brain and makes you dumb as a horse? Is that what you think?"

The brunet shrugged. "No, Malfoy, but I find it hard to believe you excelled it everything."

"I have no interest in lying."

The doctor exhaled. _Right._

"C's in some subjects, particularly Math and Social. I rocked Biology pretty hard, though." Biology had been the one subject he had truly enjoyed, though it really did not have much to do with psychology, it was still a very fascinating career.

"What you wanted to become as a child."

Draco paused, face thoughtful. "Strangely, a doctor."

The brunet felt his own brows raise in astonishment, "What? Really?"

"It always seemed like an interesting career," replied the pale man wistfully, giving his doctor an amused look. Really, what did Potter expect? _Oh yes, I wanted to kill people and become a psychopath when I grow up, that's always been my life dream_.

"Me too… a doctor. I wanted to be a lot of things actually, but this one was always the prominent."

"Hmm." The answer was contemplative; tone pondering. Harry chewed his cheek in habit, wondering if the man would make any other comments. A few moments passed by in terse silence—guess not, then.

"Cashmere or cotton?"

"What the fuck Potter? That's almost as queer as the scarf question."

Harry frowned, gritting his teeth for the umpteenth time today. "Just answer." He was amazed he was able to grind the comment out. The retort seemed sort of muffled.

"Cashmere, even if I can't get it here. It's got a nicer feel than cotton too."

"You sure it's not just 'cause it's more expensive?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe."

The doctor rolled his eyes, "Cotton." He returned promptly. "Naturally comfortable."

Draco sneered - why had he expected that?. "Tree hugger."

They answered questions for a while, and Harry found himself rather enjoying the conversation, though he had been rather apprehensive of Malfoy as they encountered some particularly challenging answers that he found he couldn't help but give the blond a disgusted glower. Really, for a psychopath, he thought about sex quite a bit—in that way, Malfoy was almost normal; it wasn't uncommon for men to think about the topic almost constantly. Though Malfoy seemed to be getting it on almost every day with various nurses, Harry didn't really see the necessity of talking about it too.

After a good session of useless information recorded, Harry noticed uneasily that Malfoy was cooperating rather well—almost _too_ well… and his eyes seemed to follow his every move with a slight flicker of—something. The doctor couldn't identify it yet. He had been recording their results and Malfoy's reaction to his comments when a movement from the corner of his eye caused him to look up. He found the blond's silver eyes tracing his form with amusement.

"Something wrong, Malfoy?" asked the doctor coolly, rearranging his recordings.

"No, not at all, doctor." Said the convict with innocence. You could practically see the halo shine above the pale strands. "You look very nice in black, though."

"Hmm, thank you." Replied Harry, giving a sideways glance to the psychopath. Those eyes always managed to make him nervous, somehow. Just a little—Malfoy didn't scare him too much, yet. It was just the creeping feeling that someone was scouring your movements and watching exactly what you were doing. Harry was used to it—but it didn't mean he liked it.

"Where are you from?"

The question was abrupt, but did not sound menacing or snide, for once.

"New York City." Replied Harry, debating on whether he should have told the truth.

"New York City…" parroted the blond, his speech reduced to mere mumblings. "the city that never sleeps…" His hands found the palate and he flopped ungracefully on it, looking introspectively at the ceiling, somehow entranced by the thought of Harry's hometown.

"Malfoy," said Harry quietly, taking his papers and pen as he prepared to leave. He paused. It was a rather sketchy question, and rather random, but something he wanted answered, nonetheless. He wondered if it would be a good idea to ask. "_would_ you kill me?"

It was a rather serious question, and Harry wanted a serious answer.

"Take it in stride, Potter," replied the blond with a sneer, "one step and a time. We'll find out eventually, won't we?"


	7. Session 5: A Foreign Sense of Comfort

**A/N:** /_May26_/MY WRITING MAKES ME CRINGE. REALLY. It's so bad at times. Gaaah! This chapter is super long, I don't know why. :(

* * *

**Chapter 7  
**_Session 5: A Foreign Sense of Comfort_

Harry felt strangely sombre as he woke up after another dream, in bed, staring at the pillow beside him, thoughts lost in a subconscious daze. He had never felt so drained before… Funnily enough, he didn't think it was because of Malfoy. Or at least, he wasn't the primary reason. Harry sighed, for once, wishing that he didn't have to get up and do his job; he just wanted to lie in bed and get lost in his contemplative thoughts.

He hated these kinds of days; the ones that were drab and dark and gloomy and you just wanted to sleep until you could feel the sunshine bloom on your cheek. Not that he could tell, as it looked like it was still night outside. Insomnia was awesome. Harry snuggled under the blankets—which weren't that comfortable, reminding him that he was once again, not in his own apartment—green eyes hidden behind eyelids, silently groaning. It was… just one of those days.

He peeked out from the sheets, frowning at the alarm clock. The doctor quinted; he didn't particularly want to fumble around for his glasses.

_3:06 AM._

Shit. Harry grumbled, closing his eyes again. At least another 5 hours of sleep was subsequent before he woke up again. He had been strangely dreamless for the past few days, but still woke up with a sense of dread every time, which really wasn't any better. Harry shuddered and dragged the blanket over his head, finding solace in the darkness. He found little to do these days… Poke Malfoy around a bit… Go eat… Compile folders and information… Sleep.

The days passed by dismally slow; he found it exasperating that it was only the 5th day and there was little progress. He could see why most of Malfoy's doctors had lasted less than month; the days were meticulous and he would eventually drive you insane… The blond's irises were pretty damn intimidating too.

The doctor scowled; he was thinking about Malfoy again… One way or another, he always seemed to find his way into his thoughts. There were no barricades with Malfoy involved; there were no barriers, no defense. Harry was stripped of his weapons, of his tools to help and treat the blond… Maybe that was the original intention—this disarmament. The doctor sighed, fed up with thinking about his client. He was resorting to _war_ analogies for god's sake.

_In the morning… For now… Sleep._

His brain concurred with this statement as he started to drift off, watching the digital alarm clock blaze dimmer and dimmer until finally, it disappeared in a rush of black.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Draco frowned. He didn't like staying up… Though, he had an unusual perception of time; before Potter had come, he had slept and woken up at odd periods of the day – be it night or day. Time wasn't tangible, it didn't _exist_ – and so, it did not affect the psychopath. He still had Potter's green string. It swirled around his fingers, glittering a fierce white under the moonlight. He had slept in the afternoon, and now he was awake, fully alert and annoyed at his own uselessness.

The psychopath calculated when fatigue would set in… probably around 6 or 7AM? Damn. Potter usually came in the mornings; he didn't particularly want the doctor to leave because he was asleep… But there would be no chance of him falling asleep right now; his gauge had been filled.

– wait. Draco stopped, stiffening in horror, causing the thread to flutter from his grasp. Did he just attempt to alter his schedule for a session with _Potter_? Yes, he was looking forward to them – Potter was amusing. But to change… to alter his own self and actions for him was unacceptable. _No one_ did that. Especially not for some dimwit psychiatrist who gets flustered too easily.

Malfoy frowned, miffed, and decided to stare at the opposing wall. There was no way of avoiding the topic in his brain either; he was going to stay awake for the next 3 hours until heavy drowsiness set in. The instrument churned, his thoughts along with it, making the blond scowl. Thinking about Potter…ahh. It was a sweet, yet dizzying experience.

The convict waited for his brain to enter the dazed cesspool sector as he sat and stared the cobbled stone that made up the other side of the wall. It was flecked gray and silver, some quartz pieces made brilliant by the moonlight that filtered thinly through the window. _This_ feeling was familiar; thank god. He went in and out of a daze for several hours, knowing fully well how mind numbing the process was… There was nothing to amuse him in his room at all, which was a disappointment.

Draco cursed as he felt his eyelids drop slightly as the morning rays poured in a few hours later, and felt his battle waning. He'd lose; everyone lost to sleep. He still needed it, much to his chagrin. As he drifted off slowly, the blond felt his eyes travel to the door of his chamber, hoping that Potter wouldn't come through that door.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

There was… music… Harry groaned. Music? What the hell?

A scratchy tune emitted from the clock, the numbers flashing a crimson _9:48AM_. The doctor blinked before swearing, turning to stare at the ceiling. Hmm… at least he had finally fallen asleep… The doctor rubbed his eyes. Truthfully, he felt much better. He refreshing rest was dreamless and deep—Harry was eternally grateful for whatever God was up there had permitted him to doze off without a thought about Malfoy.

_Shit_. Malfoy. Harry frowned, his train of thought disrupted violently by the creeping dread. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and swore again. This was getting annoying, if not creepy. It was like his brain – not him, mind you – was slowly becoming more obsessed with his client. The situation would be problematic; Harry figured the instrument would stop one time or another – eventually. Doctor Harry James Potter _would_ crack Draco Malfoy, and then he would leave this damned institute and go back to living… normally.

_You don't really want to leave, though_. The annoying voice in the back of Harry's voice erupted to dispute his pledge to normality. He clenched his teeth in vexation.

_Yes, I do._ The brunet sighed, in disbelief that he actually replied. Okay, he was talking to himself… Conversing, really. There was that little voice in his mind that always rejected reality and substituted its own twisted ideas.

_Or the truth_.

Harry scowled. _No, not the truth._ There was really nothing appealing here, and now was not the time for arguments with his subconscious. Besides, there was nothing better than going back to his nice New York apartment, hear the familiar warm bickering of the family in the apartment next to his, delving into his king-sized plush mattress and lemon-scented cotton sheets… The doctor sighed in resignation.

Why didn't he feel nostalgic? Damnit.

Harry got out of bed, mumbling under his breath about stupid human tendencies and brains that talked back. He had to take a shower… Might as well feel nice and fresh before starting the day off and visiting the blond patient again. How fickle Malfoy's moods were… Though for the most part, he seemed to be deceptively co-operative – deceptive, mind you. It wasn't genuine, that bewitching smile and the amused glances…

Water streamed down his back; it was boiling but Harry didn't mind. It felt good, having the almost scorching sensation beat on skin, the scent of floral-scented shampoo and conditioner blooming in the steamy air. He wrinkled his nose, picking up the black bottle and pouring the clear liquid into his palm, spreading it over his hair. The water drenched through the ebony locks, and Harry frowned at the length of it… He hadn't realized it was almost to his shoulders now; they had seemed much shorter when they were on his head. The brunet sighed and rinsed the shampoo out, white foam falling onto the shower's tiled floor. He searched for the conditioner, cursing as he almost slipped on the smaller bottle that had fallen. Rinsing… his skin adjusted to the heat of the liquid; it felt warm. Harry shivered as he closed the knob and stepped out; hand fumbling along the rack for his towel.

Drying himself off a good 10 minutes later, Harry paused by the table, Malfoy's file spread out all over it. The killer had numerous secrets… no one had ever been able to uncover them; Harry knew they were the key to unlocking his client and everything Draco had been trying to hide for so long. If Harry was able to help… perhaps there would be hope for Malfoy. Though, there was probably no chance that he would be released… The public would be outraged that a mass serial killer had been released if word ever got out.

The doctor frowned. There were too many holes. Though it may be premature to predict, Harry had seen little progress as far as interest went—Malfoy found more amusement in taunting him than trying to help himself. Harry was perplexed by how much _he_ seemed to do the worrying on Malfoy's behalf; Harry was the one who disliked the blond's apathy towards life in general… but the psychopath had never found a problem with it.

_Stop thinking so much_, thought the doctor to himself, kneading his forehead as he searched for the comb… Honestly, he didn't know why he bothered with it; his hair didn't become any better after brushing. It remained messy, which left Harry with a permanent bedhead. He didn't really mind though, he didn't really think he looked any worse with his hair neat (and slicked back—rather disgusting) or with, well, bedhead. It never bothered him enough to attempt to change his appearance for anyone else.

Running the black comb through his locks, he frowned and squinted at the mirror, which made the man reflected frown back. He analyzed himself for telltale signs of weakness that Malfoy would or could exploit… He wasn't sure what, though. The convict was much better at picking apart a person than Harry was—the blond tended to view people in bits and pieces while the doctor saw a full human being. This made Malfoy exceptional at picking bruises while it left Harry with little to nothing to work with as Draco was hard to look at when the raven-haired man were missing such vital pieces.

The frown became deeper as Harry's thoughts stirred. God… if he could only stop thinking for a few seconds, it'd be nice. Wasn't there some saying about thinking too hard? Or too much? The doctor turned away and got dressed; deciding today was the day some progression was made.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**5th Session  
May 13th  
Mattewan Psychiatric Institute  
Client: Draco Malfoy  
Diagnosed with: Psychopathy **

There was a strange silence as Harry entered Malfoy's chambers—no sounds of fluttering material, no squawks from indignant nurses, no light smirks or silky trademark sneers.

It was a bit eerie.

Harry scanned the cell, noticing a motionless form on the bench. His first though—Malfoy had died?!—but no, that had been irrational. No… the psychopath was simply… asleep. The doctor was unexpectedly floored by this. Of course Malfoy slept… but it just seemed so strange for a killer with such barriers and haunting menace to be… asleep.

The doctor placed the files softly on the table, attempting not to wake up the pale man. He stepped quietly, the sensible sneakers making barely audible sounds as Harry made his way to Malfoy, eyes apprehensive. What was he expecting…? A monster? Not likely. It'd just be Malfoy. Harry found, with annoyance, that he couldn't see his face at all at his angle, even if he was looking downwards.

Draco mumbled something softly, stirring slightly, shifting around on the palate. Harry swallowed—slightly shocked, reflexively taking a step back, his heart lurching in discomfort.

Malfoy looked so normal.

It wasn't – no, normal – he didn't look like a psychopath. He didn't look mentally ill, there were no masks, no deception, no lines from frowns and furrowing of brows. He looked like someone who wasn't supposed to be here… Gone were the slate gray eyes – closed behind long golden lashes; gone were the sneers and condescending looks, gone were the past events and the criminal records. It all evaporated when the blond slept.

The doctor listened, watching the blond man's chest heave up and down.

It was almost tranquil, in that eerie '_Something is behind you waiting to kill'_ kind of way.

The doctor wasn't sure what to do. Was he just going to stand here and wait until Malfoy wakes up to continue their session? Or should he just leave? He wasn't quite sure; pissing off the blond was the last thing he wanted to do. Tentatively, Harry slid downwards, resting softly on the wooden surface. His mind sent out alarm bells at the closeness.

Harry started to analyze again. Truthfully, he wasn't considering Malfoy his next partner nor was he _'checking him out'_ but he was simply looking, without feelings attached. The high cheekbones and silver-blond hair with matching gray eyes and pale pallor that was a warm, healthy color in the morning rays. For observation's sake, the doctor noted the long, well-built nose, the full pink lips and visible collarbone, his face smouldering with faint charisma and confidence and authority, there was almost a regality how he held himself, even in rest.

Carefully, the raven-haired man reached his hand out. There was some sort of adrenaline rush with doing this; taunting a killer was like playing with a hungry wolf. His hand lingered above Draco's hairline, hovering over a few strands that had gone astray, falling lightly across the man's eye. Skin met skin – Harry was surprised to find that his client's skin was pleasantly warm as he brushed away the hairs from his face, making sure it framed it more than covered it and dropped his hand.

Surprisingly, he hadn't been nervous—but if Draco had felt the brush against his skin and had stirred, he probably would have been. There had been no note of it, though. His chest still inhaled and exhaled deeply, his breaths were still long and relaxed. There had been no change.

Harry sighed in relief. He had been afraid Malfoy's eyes would snap open and he would hook his wrist the moment he had touched him because the blond could hear and see everything. However, this was not true, and the fact that Draco's eyes were still very much closed and he seemed very much asleep refuted the whole '_Omniscient psychopath_' idea. If the man had been awake…

Harry sat there for almost half an hour, contemplating and thinking. What was it that Malfoy wanted? Nothing, it appeared. Besides the random come-ons and nuances (which weren't so subtle), his client seemed perfectly content with rotting away.

The psychiatrist was acting very comfortable with him, even participating in a few spats just to humour the psychopath. They acted almost like… friends. But underneath it all, there was an insiduous power struggle.

_We're both as stubborn as hell_, thought Harry, eyes roaming around the lit cell. _It could prove to be both of our undoings._

Another few mumbles, and Draco groaned, wearily opening one eye. God… He hated sleeping. A fuzzy black figure loomed above him; he frowned subconsciously. Where was he? Who was he? What was this?

He rubbed an eye, the form above him clearing up, his brain starting to work with barely-concealed resentment. Was it—Yes, it was Potter.

Apparently, it was Potter who had recently gotten out of the shower as well. His dark hair was still damp, made a dark brown by the sunlight behind him, some locks shiny from hydration. Draco frowned. Okay, either Potter was really, _really _stupid and thick, suddenly really smart or this was an awesome wet dream—no pun intended of course.

"Mmh?" said the blond groggily, putting up a hand to shield himself from Potter's obnoxious glow. He always felt so sluggish after he had woken up—his brain didn't start functioning until a few minutes after.

"Morning," replied the doctor, a smile on his face and Malfoy noted he was sitting next to him. If the blond hadn't been so puzzled by the psychiatrist, he probably would have been offended by the strange invasion on his personal face. Though it was Potter—he didn't really mind in relation.

"Have a good dream, Draco?"

"Very." The blond chose to respond shortly, and Harry could see his thoughts stir behind those pale eyes; and he smirked.

"You seemed a little confused," said the doctor, choosing his words carefully. "Are you like this when you get up?"

Malfoy notably frowned. "No."

_It's not a weakness._

"You're going to accept it… one way or another." The doctor's voice was soft, tone attempting to be casual but failing rather spectacularly.

The psychopath cast a glance at him. "Accept what?"

"You're human," replied Harry simply, returning to his designated seat rather than staying next to the convict. He crossed his legs and twiddled his thumbs with an expectant expression.

"I don't believe I've denied that," Draco's tone had cooled considerably, "I am made up of a body and blood and veins and lungs and—"

"—but what about your heart?"

"I need it to live, Potter."

The doctor sighed. "I meant metaphorically."

"There's no metaphor for my heart, unless you're talking about this love bullshit. I need it to pump the blood through my body, no more."

"Just because you lack a conscience doesn't mean you lack a heart."

"Yes Potter, I totally have one because I enjoy kicking puppies and shooting baby animals, and oh yeah, _killing people_."

The dark-haired man adjusted his glasses and replied, though not unsympathetically. "It's something you have to work on."

_What to tackle next? _

The question seems so redundant.

Malfoy had no interest in helping himself. Harry slumped in his chair, momentarily defeated with his thoughts. When has his job ever been _pointless_?

"Hmm, alright, what would you like to discuss today, Malfoy?"

It was a good idea right? To ask him.

"Aren't you supposed to be the doctor?" Draco asked snidely, not looking up.

If Potter wanted to come in when he was waking up, he'd act like a regular person who had was just waking up—snappy and snide, though Draco was like that almost constantly. He had no chance but to change his sleeping habits too. This vexed the psychopath—he didn't like changing, not for himself and _definitely _not for others. The doctor was catching his weaknesses quickly, and he was letting them slip carelessly.

Harry didn't reply.

"Potter," Malfoy broke the silence, voice slurred in residue fatigue, "Do you hate me?"

A pause.

The question lingered in the air, and Harry sat, seriously mulled the question over. It was weird, but it _was_ a topic.

Harry loured, unsure of how to reply. It was a hard question; he should answer with _Yes_, because it would be the right thing to do, to prove that he had ethics and morals and was a human being who cannot and does not sympathize with murderers. Then again, he was a professional doctor, and harbouring any emotions like hate would hinder his ability to help.

"No."

A brow rose, Draco's lips curved into a small smile. Why had he expected that response? Potter _should_ hate him, just like everyone else. But for some reason—one he couldn't pinpoint—he knew that the brunet held no malice.

"Why?"

Harry shrugged.

"I'm your doctor, I'm not supposed to hate you."

"You should hate me, even if you are my doctor. That didn't stop a lot of the other shrinks."

"Yeah. I should."

A few more awkward moments passed, making Harry frown faintly; Draco's eyes watching him – watching for a response. He was smiling – it threatened to become a sneer, placing pieces in his mind.

"If you weren't my doctor… why wouldn't you hate me?"

Harry eyed him. He was really persistent about this topic, eh…? He couldn't imagine his opinion of Malfoy really mattered to the convict.

"Because you act like a child… you simply never grew up. I pity you more than I hate you."

"A child?" asked Draco incredulously, "I'm not a child, Potter. I know exactly what I'm doing."

"You're a child," replied Harry absently, picking up his folder. "Because you show very little maturity. Everything to you is a game, isn't it?"

"It's a game, yes, but I have a depth of maturity that you wouldn't understand," answered the convict dourly, miffed.

"Perhaps I wouldn't." Harry responded calmly. The blond was throwing some sort of subtle tantrum which wasn't discrediting the 'child' theory much. "You're not proving else wise, anyways."

The psychopath stopped talking, returning indignantly to his palate.

"Hmm… Malfoy, which school did you attend in Wiltshire?"

Harry felt the convict's pale eyes turn to him. "Why?"

"Just answer."

"Warminster Academy for Boys," said the blond, albeit slightly grudgingly. "Private."

"I figured." Replied Harry. "Were you ever bullied? Mistreated?"

"No. I had two bullies, Crabbe and Goyle to fend for me. Dumb brutes, but everyone was afraid of them, so it worked."

"Ahh… So, never bullied? No one badmouthed you?"

"No one dared."

Harry looked up, not picking up his pen to write anything down. It might be valuable information, but once he clicked the ballpoint, Malfoy would go back to being snippy and defensive, if he wasn't already.

"I know Zabini was your… best friend. Any others? What did you think of them?"

Malfoy shrugged. "A lot like me. Rich, purebred, powerful families. I'm not sure if they were actual _friends_, but we pretended so our families didn't tear into each other."

"Ahh… I see."

"I can't remember them too well. I just remember Blaise... and Queenie. She was a whore."

"Queenie…?"

"Greengrass. You might have heard of her father."

Harry paused. "The beer producer? I heard a few of my friends talking about Greengrass Lager, but I'm not sure if that's—"

"—yeah, Greengrass is bigger in Britain. But we got drunk on her dad's shit and ended up sleeping with each other on accident. Or whatever you can call an accident."

"A one-night stand?"

"Something more like a six night stand, but sure."

Harry chuckled dryly. "I'm betting her father wasn't too pleased…?"

"He never found out." Said Draco with a smirk, "I'm good at covering things up."

"I'm sure." Harry tried not to smile, but it appeared on his lips as he peered down at the crimson folder, flipping through the manila pages.

"So, Doctor, why won't you tell me some things about your life?" The psychopath said, raising his brows a fraction with expectation. "You can't expect me to prattle on so much when you haven't even said _anything_. I think I'd like to know a little about you too, Harry."

"Uh…" there was a slight reluctance, which the blond caught and sneered. "Well… What do you want to know? I can't just spew out my entire life story for you to hear."

"Who's Ginny?"

There was a pause. Harry frowned. "Are you obsessed, Malfoy? I already told you, she's my best friend."

The blond looked amused. "Nothing like that, Potter. I'm just… curious. Tell me something about her. Maybe how you met her?"

Harry had the grace to blush and frown. "I've known her for a while… We were in Middle school together, if that tells you anything. She was pretty headstrong—most of the guys were scared of her."

A blonde brow raised. "Except for you?"

"I think she was afraid of _me_. But after a bit, she warmed up and we started talking… We had a lot in common."

Draco didn't reply immediately but sneered.

"Just a friend, Potter? This sounds—"

"—everyone says that." Interrupted Harry firmly. "We're not involved, we're just friends. She'll vouch for that too."

The blond responded with a grunt. "You sure about that? Girls are crazy… but they can wait it out for years."

"Wait for what?"

"For the friendship to become something more."

"Ginny wouldn't—"

"—you don't know that."

The doctor scowled. He knew Ginny better than Malfoy did—hell, Malfoy didn't even know what she looked like. Why the hell did he sound so confident? Maybe he had bad experiences with clingy girls before. Something he could grill the psychopath about, considering it seemed one of the few memories Malfoy had actually retained.

"I'm not going to debate the actions of my best friend with you," replied the brunet stiffly, putting down the folder. "especially considering you don't know her at all."

"I'm not saying I do," The convict's tone was smug, "but I know girls."

"I'm leaving." Harry said curtly, pocketing his pens.

"One question." Draco moved faster, blocking the door with his body. Harry glowered at him.

"What, Malfoy? If it's something about Gi—"

"Do you think you could ever sleep with another man?"

Harry stared.

"_What_?"

The convict frowned, tempted to roll his eyes. Repeating things was tiresome. "_Would. You. Ever. Consi—_"

"Okay, okay, don't repeat it." Said Harry hastily. _Wow, he was deciding to be direct for once, instead of the pathetically attempts to be inconspicuous?_ "I don't know? Malfoy, move out of my way."

"Give me an answer, Potter." He repeated, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"I don't have one," replied the doctor bluntly, his tone a near snarl as his hand reached the handle before Draco could prevent it. "Now get out of the way Malfoy, or you'll be suffering plenty of bruises tomorrow."

The man graciously bowed out of the way, a glitter of malice in his eyes and an equally frightening grin on his lips.

"See you tomorrow then, Doctor."


	8. Session 6: Nothing and No One to Save

**A/N:** /_May26_/ Woah Angelina Jolie rocks… A lot. :9 And she's yummy too!! Keke… Is it just me or are these things getting longer. :(

MAKI OSA IS SO CUTE? (Hiro Nakamura from Heroes)  
"_SOME CRAZY LADY PAID ME 50 BUCKS TO GET HER OUT OF HER HOUSE, OK_."

* * *

**Chapter 8**  
_Session 6: Nothing and No One to Save_

What does one do when there is nothing to accomplish and all your brain feels like doing is rotting?

Sulk, of course.

And Draco Malfoy was incredibly, _incredibly_ talented at this particular thing. His back against the wall, a look of quiet disdain across his handsome face—no, Draco Malfoy was _built_ for sulking.

Not that it particularly helped at the moment.

With his thoughts swirling faster than they had done before, Draco was just _slightly_ annoyed by what the doctor had said the day before. Potter had threatened _bodily_ harm, and had avoided answering his very important question as well. No doubt the doctor knew what his incentive for co-operating was now. But no matter. He had most likely had a clue for a few sessions now.

Draco furrowed his brows—he didn't like this. Perhaps, in the past few years, he had allowed only a sparse few into the frayed edges of his mind… But Potter was not one of those people who deserved that honour.

The moronic psychiatrist was invading into _his_ territory; this was _his_ mind—the only place he could seek solace in these four walls. It was not for anyone to access and defile, and it _certainly_ wasn't Potter's. Draco was quietly infuriated, staring up towards the small barred window up high, sterling eyes blazing under a calm, placid mask. His mask… There were things protecting him, his façade of nonchalance and fleeting, careless, _emotionless_ laughs.

Of course, this mask also protected everyone else, too.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Vsst… vssssssst…

_What a strange sound_.

Vsssssst… Vsssssssst… Vsssssst…

Harry groaned. What the hell? Don't… want… get… up…He realized after a few more '_vssst_'s that the strange, buzzing sound was his cell phone on vibrate.

"Shit!" swore the doctor unprofessionally; pulling out of the chair he had been in. Argh… He could practically feel his joints cracking in his haste to get up and reach for the small, silver device. He had fallen asleep in the chair? Fucking fantastic.

The doctor pulled the SLVR from the top of the mahogany drawer and flipped it, panting in short, shallow breathes. He frowned as a quiet chuckle came over the phone.

"Who the fuck is this?" asked Harry irritably—he felt rather grumpy this morning, for lack of a better word. He also felt sore all over—the chair was probably the main contributing factor, and he was still in the dark green sweater from yesterday, and the material felt stiff, sliding across his skin.

"Tha's nice," replied a deeper voice, and the dark-haired man froze. Oh _fuck_, he didn't want to deal with this today. "Ver'nice way to talk to your godfather, Harrily."

Harry rubbed his forehead in exasperation. _God, do you hate me? _Sirius apparently still liked that childish nickname he had given Harry when the doctor was what… 12? Man… He heard from the alcoholic every few months asking for varying amounts of money to pay off debts and to spur his drinking addiction. He wasn't quite sure why he still supported Sirius—perhaps it was just a pervading sense of guilt at how quickly his godfather's life had fallen apart after the death of his father.

He _was_ family, after all.

"How much do you need, Sirius?"

Another chuckle. Harry fought the urge to hang up. "Oh Harry, Harry… why d'you always think of me like that? Maybe I just ran'you to catch up?"

The doctor waited a beat, listening to the shuffle of his godfather's breath over the phone. 3… 2… 1…

Sirius on the line giggled, his words slightly slurred. "Fine… I need 'nother 500, Harrykins, b'its for rent… Promise."

"Uh huh," replied the Harry coolly, "I'll wire it to your account tomorrow."

"Mmkay then, Harry-kins, d'you know if Re—"

Harry flipped the phone, hanging up. Geez… This just made the day that much more fantastic. He had woken up stiff and sore from compiling shitty, useless information on a shitty, useless client that enjoyed poking sharp sticks into him and relished in Harry's frustration, which was followed by a phone call from an infuriatingly pathetic godfather who was of course, asking for money so he could buy a few more bottles of beer.

_So_ fantastic.

Harry muttered darkly as he attempted to straighten his papers, skimming through the white sheets, pushing them into the crimson folder with a bit more edge than he had intended, causing a few to scatter to the floor. The doctor swore again—wasn't this just a lovely day?—and gathered them back into a neat pile.

After doing so, he decided it would be a fine time for a shower, and maybe another call to Ginny, for stress purposes.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Through the beautifully framed windows of his office, Dumbledore frowned. He watched the cars and highways from the streets below, azure eyes casting off into the distance, deep in thought. He sighed, turning away from the busy intersection towards the computer screen, once again gathering information about Draco Malfoy. Nothing ever important came up though—there were only bits of information pertaining to his murders of his parents in an old Wiltshire newspaper, and some photographs from the scene of the crime.

This time however, he began to explore Harry. The doctor was supposedly very well known, having treated and cured over 200 of the world's most dangerous and mentally ill. It was a very impressive record. However, it did not help in the fact that Harry was falling into Draco's traps, and each time he came up for air, it took longer and longer. Soon… the dark-haired doctor would be completely and utterly immersed.

And Draco would just mark him up as another doctor he's conquered.

Dumbledore sighed, and clicked on a few short biographies. Strangely, Dr. Potter didn't release too much information on himself either—Dumbledore didn't find much besides the bare facts, like his date of birth and favourite colour. He had never published an autobiography… That was interesting, as it seemed he was a topic of great interest with doctors worldwide.

Dumbledore stopped on one particular website—an interview. It was stowed at the back of the download folders—hidden, and looked like it was about to be deleted. It was rather interesting, apparently the only one the Doctor had indulged in. Long-time friend and old university professor interviewed him… Doctor Remus Lupin. The wizened man watched the video closely—Harry was laughing as the professor asked him about his career and his record… Fascinating.

"_Did anything majorly affect your decision? Besides me, of course."_

_Doctor Potter laughed before rubbing the back of his head in a sheepish way, "My parents passed away… I really considered stopping my studies when my dad got brain cancer… it was a pretty big shock to me and mom."_

The Dean stopped, frowning. _What?_ This was… rather catastrophic, in terms of secrets. Well… it wasn't so much a _secret_, as just a really well kept fact. Dumbledore stroked his long beard, peering at the video through half-moon spectacles. The video was dated 2004… Approximately 2 to 3 years ago? That was still a closing wound.

He would simply keep the fact in his head—surely this was not a well-known fact. The death of a loved one, especially a parent from something as sudden as cancer must leave some mental scars.

He would keep it away from Draco Malfoy at least—he had a way of prying those scars open so blood ran freely again.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**6th Session  
May 14th  
Mattewan Psychiatric Institute  
Client: Draco Malfoy  
Diagnosed with: Psychopathy**

Draco felt unnaturally gleeful when Potter stepped into his chambers once more, though he quietly noted the doctor's universal irritation. He looked forward to these things now… Which really, shouldn't be happening, but regardless, it was. The blond man had solemnly accepted that he liked the psychiatrist's presence, even if he sometimes annoyed him.

Harry's wrist snapped back, and even though he attempted to slam the door, the hydraulics kicked in, siphoning the padded door into its slot, making it whisper silent. Harry paused and stared at it before starting mutter incoherently. The doctor turned to the table and dropped the folders, the papers fluttering across the floor in a dismal matter. The doctor made no attempt to pick them up. His emerald eyes were dull and the bags under his eyes told Draco that Potter probably did not have the best night. Though, if Potter didn't stop the whole 'I'm really really pissed off' thing, he'd get a hard-on.

Seriously.

He was having trouble not sneering or passing any snide remarks at Potter, who was glaring so hard that he hoped Draco may combust under the heat of the glower. Of course, the blond did not go up in flames or anything similar—though, the effect was not lost on him. Draco weighed the pros and cons of acting nonchalant—on one hand, Potter would most likely become aggravated under such apathy, and even though an angry doctor was a hot doctor, he was not prepared to receive the bitching he most likely would get with being casual.

The doctor gave another grunt before moving towards the table—he didn't sit, Draco noticed—and looked like he was trying to decide between leaving or to sitting down and talking rationally.

"Morning." He said grudgingly. What was he supposed to do? Harry was in no mood for Malfoy today, and considered leaving—he wasn't sure if it was a good idea to walk into the one room that contained the one person that could probably cause him to burst into flames with fury.

Draco decided to smile back at him and raise his eyebrows fractionally at Harry's entrance—it was very impressive, any other person would probably have been at least slightly intimidated or a little bit sympathetic. However, he was not—a myriad of doctors had stepped into same room with the same rude entrance; Draco was simply bored of it. Potter had not been, and will not be the last doctor he thinks is remotely attractive when angry. Though to be honest, Potter would be one of the very few.

"No greeting for me?" asked Harry, the supposedly cheerful phrase muffled by fatigue. Fuck—why did he look like he was going to laugh?

"I didn't know you were expecting one." Replied the blond lazily.

"Most people respond when someone says 'Good morning' to them."

"I'm not most people, am I?"

"No, you certainly aren't." With a giant _SIGH_ tacked on the end, just for effect. If _only_ Malfoy was normal.

The blond paused and stretched downwards to pick up a small green string from the ground. _Ah_, Potter's string. Hmm. He could not remember why he had dropped it, but it had been because of a sudden epiphany. But it was gone now, alas.

Draco frowned as he twisted it around his index digit, prompting a strange look from Harry.

What the fuck was that? It looked like some weird… green fabric from something.

The doctor flushed slightly as he realized it was a thread from _his_ pajamas—the cotton green ones he had so foolishly and carelessly worn a few days before. He frowned and resisted the want to snatch it back.

The psychopath tutted, clicking his tongue in a mocking tone, "You shouldn't leave your clothes here, Doctor, the nurses may suspect something."

Harry shrugged. "Let the nurses think what they want; you've done a fine job of humiliating me anyways. And I don't need to repeat myself, do I? I have no interest in psychopaths."

Malfoy raised a fine brow, a look of scepticism setting on his face. "I'm not sure why you're so picky when you're still a virgin."

The doctor scowled; the man was irritating and he didn't like this game. "I think I'd be more careful with who I choose to sleep with, unlike you."

"Oooh, that hurt, Harry. Really deep there."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

Harry took a seat, glad that they had avoided the whole '_Are you gay_' discussion, which probably would have ended in him walking out. It was not something he liked to discuss with any of his patients—particularly not a crazed serial killer—hell, his sexuality was a subject he didn't even talk about with _Ginny_. It usually just got too awkward.

"Y'know, Doctor, I think you need to take a break."

Harry looked up at the blond. "A break? Wow, you read my mind. I think I'm taking one this weekend."

Malfoy frowned. "I don't believe your job allows you take weekends off, Potter."

"But I am taking it off," replied Harry crookedly, "if Dumbledore wants to keep me around, he will."

"Ah," said the psychopath, considerably dampened by this recent turn of events. "so you're leaving? Today?"

"Probably?" A shuffle of papers. "I just need to ask the Dean for permission before I go back to the Big Apple for a few days."

"Does Ginny live there too?"

The doctor looked at his client. "What's the deal with you and Ginny? But yes, she leaves in the same complex as me."

"I see," said Draco in a tone Harry did not particularly like. "So doctor, what are we doing today?"

The brunet looked at his pile of papers before returning his gaze to his client. Quite honestly, he didn't have a clue.

"What would you like to discuss, Draco?"

"You're the doct—"

"—and you're the client. I'm sure there's something on your mind."

The blond paused.

"What's happened? Since 1999? I don't get newspaper in here, sadly. The whole being crazy thing has hindered me from checking out current events."

Harry mused over it. "What was the last thing you remember?"

"There was a bomb in Brixton, London. I remember it was bloody plastered all over the news and BBC was going crazy over it. Sometime late March or early April. Anything significant that would interest me since then?"

"What kind of things would interest you?"

"I don't know. Deaths, births, bombings that affect me, stuff like that."

Harry shrugged. What could he think of at the top of his head? "Well… let's see. Tony Blair is now the PM of Britain, we've got terrorism on the go from a plane bombing on September 11th, there's been series of London bombings for the past few months… I'm not a huge history nut, sorry Malfoy."

"I can see." Replied Draco dryly.

"I'll try to bring you a few newspapers every so often," said Harry, catching the psychopath's tone with a wry smile. "I only get subscription to the New York times and the Buffalo News, so I'm afraid there might not be too much English news going on in there."

"Many thanks," said Draco, albeit slightly grudgingly. "It's not like I have much choice over the matter anyways, because you're not going to go out of your way to get me a London paper."

"You never know," Harry replied with a small smile. "I might."

The psychopath smirked but said nothing further but instead resorted to tapping the gray walls with his nail rhythmically.

"Anything else you want to discuss, Malfoy?"

"_You_ think of something, Doctor." His voice was hazy with disinterest. "Otherwise this session will be rather pointless."

"I'm just a little bit tired," replied the brunet, "I feel asleep on my desk. Really fucking uncomfortable if you can believe it."

"Can't be any more uncomfortable than sleeping on a wooden block." said Malfoy, knowing first hand. "I'm thinking both of our sleeping arrangements are disagreeable, are they not?"

"Definitely. Though to be kind, my bed here is acceptable."

"Mine isn't, though. Mind if I crash in yours?"

Something told Malfoy that he did mind.

Harry frowned automatically; that idea was _really_ not too appealing. "I think I'll stick to my living quarters, yeah?"

"Your loss." Answered the convict in a somewhat teasing tone that had a nasty edge to it. Almost like a dare.

"I'm still not interested in sleeping with you," reminded Harry with transparent petulance.

"You will."

"No, I won't."

"Sooner or later, you will be."

The doctor's brow quirked. "Then I'd prefer it be later than sooner; I have to help you first."

Nothing more was said for a few minutes, the awkward silence making the doctor slightly nervous. He never liked silence—it always seemed too eerie or too nerve breaking for him, and he much preferred crowds or at least a few chatty people. Quiet was perfectly fine, but a deadening calm between two people made the brunet shiver.

"When's your flight?"

"2. I have another hour before I need to go."

"What if Dumbledore doesn't allow you?"

"He will. He _has_ to." Harry paused. "If he values me as a doctor, he'll let me go."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. He didn't particularly care if Dumbledore would let Potter go, but wouldn't the Dean be a little bit apprehensive? The doctor had arranged to leave his job for two days with no previous note to him.

"You know, Doctor, I'd like to know a little bit more about your parents. You've already asked me about mine."

"You haven't told me anything," said Harry a little bitterly. "You haven't given me any information about your parents, so neither will I."

The blond tutted, sneering. "You don't trust me Potter?"

"Not at all."

"C'mon Potter, if you want my bloody trust, you're going to have to put yourself out there too."

"I—" Harry frowned. He really _really _didn't want to tell Malfoy about his parents. The subject was a touchy one for him, and his close friends and even former professor and confidant Lupin knew to avoid it. "It's not a subject I'm particularly bursting to talk about."

"Yeah and reliving killing your parents is less traumatizing?"

The doctor glared at Draco. "_You_ were the one who decided to kill them."

"Look—" The psychopath had sat up now, looking a little more impatient. "—if you want me to cooperate with you, you'll need to do some cooperating yourself.

"Alright Malfoy, if you really want to know. I'm going to give you a warning; you had better not _ever_ tease me about them or make some stupid joke because I _will_ get angry. And you'll have to tell me a little bit about your parents, alright?"

The paler man almost sneered but caught himself, switching his features to a more angelic expression. "Of course, Doctor Potter." He said with naïveté. Harry grunted, not convinced.

"Well, alright. My parents were Lily and James…They were good people. Dad was a dentist but had a closet-love for soccer, and taught me secretly because our yard was too small to play without mom noticing. Mom was a motivational speaker against child abuse but she was great overall… People say I look exactly like my father but I have my mom's eyes." Harry chuckled quietly, thinking of a distant memory.

Draco listened with interest, his string forgotten and dirty nuances put aside.

Harry watched him, almost amused at his interest. _Almost_. "Well, there you go."

The psychopath shook his head minutely; there was more. "What happened to them?"

Harry looked shocked, bright emerald eyes widening in consternation. "What—how did you—" The doctor paused. "How did you know?"

There was a casual shrug. "You wouldn't be so reluctant to talk to them otherwise. If they were alive, you wouldn't drive a huge barrier up instead of talking about them."

The doctor frowned. So this is what Malfoy did in those silent periods?

"Well… Dad… got brain cancer. Terminal. We had to watch him die for a year, and it was especially rough on my mom… She just wasted away after dad was gone."

There was a questioning look behind those pale eyes; Harry knew what he was going to ask.

"No. She didn't kill herself. She just died of a broken heart, I suppose. They almost did an autopsy… but that would have been such an insult to her spirit. So I pulled a few strings and cancelled it. I just believed she wouldn't leave me alone… intentionally."

Malfoy nodded, even though he had not been presented with this option. "I see… Tragic."

Harry looked up partially in bruised anger—had that been sarcastic? But no, he could not find a trace of malice on the convict's face, other than quiet reflection. He was thinking.

"Your turn," said Harry quietly. He always felt a little sob rise in his chest when he talked about his parents, no matter how stoically he presented the story.

The prisoner looked introspective. "There's not much to tell you, honestly. My father was a lawyer with powerful political ties, Mother went out with her Country Club friends and shopped. I respected them both."

"Sounds like a great family," said the doctor before clamping his lips shut. That was inappropriate and highly hypocritical, especially after what _he_ had said. Draco gave him an '_I'm not impressed_' look but smirked when Potter shut up.

"Well… is that good enough for you Potter? I don't have any more details about them, truthfully."

Harry shook his head. "It's alright. I won't force you to tell me anything more. Besides, I think I should leave for Dumbledore's office now."

The psychopath nodded, having nothing snide or offensive to say for once. At least, he was refraining from saying such things. He closed his eyes and returned to humming contently.

Harry tried not to grin, refusing to let his contentment escape. "See you on Monday, Malfoy."

Draco smiled.

_Indeed_.


	9. Links Between Passages

**A/N: **_/May26/_Dean is an administrator of a Hospital or Institute l3 I don't change this very much.

God, I love Cedric… I want more of him than just a flashback. joj Poo.

* * *

**Chapter 9  
**_Links Between Passages_

"Doctor Dumbledore."

The wizened man looked up from the screen; expectant. Expectant but solemn. He knew what would happen in the next few minutes – another doctor would resign, giving a reason out of the large variety why they could not treat their client, and Draco would prevail again.

He sighed lightly – no use delaying the inevitable. "Yes, Doctor Potter?"

"I'm taking the weekend off, I'm flying back to New York to visit my friends. I'll be back on Monday."

The Dean was mildly surprised – he had expected something like 'Well, I'm leaving.' – but still suspected it to be just a softening of a resignation. Many a doctor took some time 'off', and never returned. Although, a break sounded much better on a record than 'I couldn't do anything' or 'I'm quitting'. Dumbledore paused, drawing a sheet from another crimson file.

"A letter of resignation," replied Dumbledore shortly as Harry's eyes relocation to the paper; he looked slightly perplexed.

"Oh," said the younger doctor in realization, "No, I'm not quitting. I'm just going to fly back up to New York and spend the weekend there… I hope I wasn't required to work Saturdays and Sundays as well."

_Hmm._

"So you will be returning?"

"Yes."

The Head Doctor nodded absentmindedly, placing the letter back into its place, giving a solid look at Harry, who gulped slightly. _Those eyes_… though not chilling like Malfoy's, they still had a rather electric feel about them.

"Any particular reason for the break?"

Harry shrugged lightly, meeting the elder's expectant. "I usually take a few weekends off to see my friends; also, Mr. Malfoy is proving more complex than I had thought, Doctor." Harry sighed inwardly at his reply – it was probably the largest understatement he had ever used – but replied firmly, "I assure you I will return Monday with a refreshed mind."

Dumbledore nodded again and smiled slightly – the smile was warm, yet still managed to retain an eerie feel. Harry turned around and proceeded out the double oak doors, feeling that the conversation had come to an end. He wondered if Dumbledore knew of how rashly he treated Malfoy – who was like a time bomb. But nonetheless, the elder didn't seem too nonplussed, which could only be a good thing.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

With a light bag packed (considering Harry's original home _was_ in New York anyways) with a good book, his cell phone and a few garments he could wear for a few days, the doctor drove his way to the airport and paid for his parking – 2 days – before boarding the small jet and allowing a smiling stewardess to show him to his seat. He kept the bag beneath his legs – he _did_ have his MP3 and cell phone in there, and two good novels for time's sake. It was a bare 2 hour flight, and Harry could feel his contentment build up already. He had a window seat—he didn't particularly like them, but he'd pull down the blinds if required.

As he pushed a set of white headphones into his ears, someone rushed into the seat, mumbling things to themselves and fretting to the stewardess who sounded just a _bit_ more exasperated now as the woman next to him spoke frantically, "I'm so sorry!! I think I just forgot to close the zipper and—"

"—it's alright, ma'am." Replied the stewardess' voice, leaving the scene rather quickly.

Harry shifted to get a good look at the woman, and found to his surprise, that he knew her. Rather well, actually.

"Tonks?!" He asked in amazement, pulling out an earphone as the pink-haired woman turned around to look at him.

Her face lit up into a smile. "Harry? What are you doing in Buffalo of all places?"

Harry grinned; it was so good seeing people he knew again. "Client. I could ask you the same thing, though."

She flushed slightly, her cheeks complimenting her rosy hair. "Yeah… I was in _Georgia_ and I had to get a transfer from Buffalo. It's so stupid! I was down there for the formation apprenticeship—the one you skipped—and you're sooo lucky! Snape is some kind of hardass, seriously."

The doctor felt his brow rise slightly. "Why'd you take the course then?"

Tonks giggled, turning a bit pinker and started to twirl a finger affectionately through her vibrant locks. Harry paused and looked her over.

"Oooh well, Professor Lupin said it'd be a really good experience, but I don't know now…"

Harry sighed—he should have known it was this—and put his elbow on the armrest. Of course… Nymphadora Tonks had had a _huge _crush on their former Psychology teacher in Columbia University, and apparently, she still did. Professor Remus Lupin, of course, to no offense, wasn't exactly the catch of the year. He looked much older than he actually was, and that was never a good thing. He did radiate warmth though, and Lupin was exceptional kind to many of the newer students at the academy and had that sort of warm atmosphere that you felt you could trust.

The doctor grinned at the memories of Tonks in their class… It had only been, what, two years ago? She always stayed after class to ask Lupin after something or other, shyly averting her glance. Harry had seen it many times. Sometimes, however, her pining got a bit extravagant, or her 'insinuated' flirting a bit too blatant that it even made the professor squirm, which, of course, Tonks never noticed.

She smiled nonchalantly, losing herself in a daydream. The doctor gave a begrudging smile and waved a hand in front of her face, grinning as the student blinked and stared at him. "God Tonks… just ask him out. Even _if_ he is, like, twice your age."

Tonks blushed again and frowned, giving Harry a good, firm scowl. "55 isn't _that_ old… And he's not twice my age! I'm 29, so he'd have to be 58."

"Close enough."

She looked outraged. "Three years, Harry! 1095 days, 26,280 hours and 1,576,800 minutes! That's not _close enough_, that's not even a give or take."

The doctor smiled. "Yeah, Tonks, it is." He marveled at how she could keep such useless facts in her brain such as how many minutes were in a year rather than useful bits of information concerning her own profession.

Tonks sobered slightly, furrowing her brows, making Harry frown slightly. He hadn't meant to be unintentionally cruel or anything like that; he knew how long she had kept this secret. He reassured her with a gentle pat on the shoulder, which made her look slightly happier. He beamed and returned the forgotten earphone to its socket, listening to Blues and Jazz. Harry frowned in annoyance as Tom Jones came up on the player, and Harry promptly skipped it and sighed. _Another good song ruined_. Regardless of the blatant reminder, the tunes made him feel better, anyways.

"How's Ginny?" Tonks said, pausing to pick up her own MP3 from her knapsack.

Harry frowned slightly, "I'm not really sure… Why does everyone presume I know what's going on with her?"

"Aren't you two together?" asked Tonks, eyes curious, sifting through the list of songs on the LCD screen.

"…No?" replied the doctor skeptically, brow raised. Again, everyone assumed they were together too… God, no, they were _good _friends. He had known Ginny since… grade school? He had been 13… she had been 12… Grade 9, was it? And she had been in grade 8. It'd been 13 years…

"Oh." Said Tonks shortly, her speech muffled by a sandwich she had voraciously stuffed into her mouth while searching for something. "Buh I'f tawled to hur an' stuff." She swallowed a piece of bread and blushed slightly at her manners. "Well, she wants to end up with a doctor."

Harry shrugged. "Well, she's about to become one. How's that for a dream?"

Tonks frowned, stopped talking after that, leaving a slightly awkward silence between them as Harry relapsed back into his music. He thought to ask what was wrong… but thought better of it. Why bother? There was only 47 minutes 'til he reached New York…

Over the flight, he read a novel, occasionally fitting in an Ella Fitzgerald track when he bothered to switch the songs instead of letting them go along. Harry watched in amusement as Tonks, beside him started to look at herself in the mirror, glancing over towards the walkway if the washroom was occupied. He didn't really see the point though—the professor hardly cared for looks and such, at least, that's what it seemed. Harry had never really seen him involved with a woman, but really, most people didn't see their teachers do so.

Lupin, apparently, had been good friends with his father in _their_ university days. Along with Sirius and another named Peter, whom Harry had never met, they formed some sort of—dare he say it?—_clique_ in which it was just them. The doctor knew his dad remembered those memories fondly in the last year.

As they landed into the Kennedy International Airport—where the announcements said in the same mechanical voice, '_It is now 2:32PM. Please make your way down the …'_—as Harry said a hasty _Goodbye!_ to Tonks as he retrieved his baggage, simply because he knew he'd see her some other time. He'd go visit Lupin sometime as well at Columbia. After getting into a cab, the doctor smiled as he punched in Ginny's number, significantly happy those, for once, there were no extra bills or extensions when he called her.

Ahh, it felt good to be home.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Draco, with his head propped up against the wall, heard the click of shoes as they made their way down the cobbled stones, smiling nonchalantly with his eyes closed as his ears picked up the vibrations running along the walls. He frowned as they approached, however. Unless Potter started wearing sensible boots instead of the usual sneakers… it was Dumbledore. Well, he knew Potter had left already.

The psychopath sighed and opened one eye in annoyance, his mood already dismally ruined. He was able to catch the ruffle of a coat as the wizened man strode in again, looking slightly more disapproving that the last time they had talked. Draco was about to ask what the hell he was doing here, but the Dean answered before the question could tumble out of his mouth.

"Draco, I have heard you have been stressing Doctor Potter."

The psychopath smiled innocently. "Really now?" His tone was passive and cool, keeping an even levelled gaze with the Head Doctor,

"Yes. He has informed me of such." Finished Dumbledore softly, ice blue eyes scanning the convict opposite him. "I hope you're not purposely trying to force Doctor Potter out? Remember, this _is_ your last chance."

The elder frowned behind the beard, mildly dissatisfied, simply because Draco showed _nothing _at all.

"I'm sorry if he feels I am pressuring him, but I am simply being me. He _is_ supposed to help me, correct? What use is it to him if I act different than I would normally?"

"I have been notified that you have some interest in your doctor. Now Draco—"

The psychopath scoffed. "He's good looking. Beyond that, he has the intellect of a squirrel. I am not interested in keeping him around, but I am not interested in exerting any effort to screw him other, either."

Dumbledore frowned and rose, pausing at the door and giving the pale man a faintly sympathetic gaze. It appeared as if their talk was over.

The convict rolled his eyes in exasperation. What a pointless talk? It wasn't like Dumbledore was going to impart some wisdom upon him or warn him or any of that bullshit.

"If you continue to treat him this way, he will leave." Said the Dean softly, giving the blond _that_ look.

"Will he?" Spat Draco, lip curling into his trademark sneer, "do you think his ego will allow him to?"

Dumbledore said nothing, but looked slightly more troubled before he left, closing the door behind him without a sound.

_He hasn't got a thing on me_, though Draco triumphantly. _That's what's vexing him._

Though—what if Dumbledore was right? Would Potter leave on a whim? What if he wasn't going to come bac—

—no.

He was overreacting already. The amount of concern that buzzed around his head was ridiculous for an insignificant _doctor_…

"Fuck, Potter—" he said quietly, more to himself than to Harry,"—you really are damn annoying."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Harry!!"

A woman came running out of the large apartment complex, strands of ginger hair trailing from her bun as she raced outside in her robe and pajamas. Harry felt a grin that was too big for his face light up as he saw Ginny. The cab sped away from the suburban area as the doctor slung his bag over his shoulder, walking towards her, grinning.

She frowned as she reached him, but her lips twitched into a smile, giving the doctor a good-humoured glare. "Geez, Harry, 5 days? Losing your touch much?" Ginny offered a hand to take his bag and scowled when he refused.

Harry winked tiredly, and grasped his knapsack tighter as Ginny tried to pry it out of his grasp. "I'm not done… It's gonna be wayyy longer than just 5 days, Gins."

She released her grip and gaped at the doctor with feigned astonishment. "What?! The infamous Harry Potter finally found a patient that takes more than a few days to crack?" The nurse grinned and managed to get the bag and started to run back into the apartment, making Harry roll his eyes and follow her slowly, pushing his hands into his jean pockets. _Seriously_, Ginny was such a kid sometimes.

The redhead paused as they clambered up the stairs, grinning before tossing the knapsack back at Harry, who fumbled to catch it, and almost tumbling down the steps as he did so. He scowled and gave a firm glower at Ginny, who just smiled and opened the door of her apartment and slipped in.

"Changing." She shouted as Harry knocked on the door. He sighed and moved some ways down the hall to his own complex; they were in the same block but not the same _place_, at least. This however, still encouraged rumours that they were going out or dating or _something_. Ginny often told him of these between gigglesnorts about the clinic, and all the woman in there who thought it was fabulous that she was sleeping (to Harry's horror) with one of the most famous psychiatrists in the world. Ginny always swore she denied it vehemently.

He looked around for his keys, and opened the door, relishing in the smell of lemons and air freshener as he entered the spacious room. Light hardwood floors, big windows, clean spaces and an _air conditioner_. _Man_, this was so much better…

He crossed a few rooms before reaching the bedroom, and launched himself at the white sheets, sinking into the king-sized bed with much relish, smiling as sunlight streamed in from the numerous windows. He loved the Big Apple… loved the sounds of traffic outside his windows, loved the high vantage point and even loved the curt deli owners who screamed at their delivery boys for being late. It was just… New York.

Harry heard the shuffle of slippers as Ginny entered the room, but didn't bother to open his eyes. He felt content here, in his own space, with no goddamn murderous predator in the vicinity. He didn't like the rooms he often stayed in, mainly because they were so silent… He had been born in a small town, yes, outside of Boston, but he had been raised in New York, the City that Never Sleeps. At Mattewan, there was nothing but the creaking of bars and shuffles of people. It was rather eerie, to be honest.

The doctor frowned. _Damnit! _No thinking about asylums when he was here. This was supposed to be a _vacation_.

It was hard to get the psychopath out of his mind though; Malfoy was rather enrapturing even if he was a total prick. But of course, whatever you told the mind not to do, it did. His brain started to loop some of the blond's colourful quotes… He found to his chagrin that he could only think of ones that made him cringe. That wasn't good.

'_Only one girlfriend, Potter? I can't imagine you got laid with that…'_

He had only had one… And apparently to Malfoy, that made him gay. That meant he found _men_ attractive. Well, Harry was no judge of things. He knew which things were good looking and which ones weren't, and gender didn't come into the equation until much laterMalfoy was an attractive person, it was true. He had the right facial features and body to be aesthetically pleasing, but it did not mean that Harry was attracted to _him_. Anyone else in the world would find him at least _somewhat_ agreeable, right? Draco Malfoy was just one of those people that was universally appealing, though perhaps he was too feminine for some.

He had never liked another guy before either. Well, he didn't like Malfoy—that would infer that Harry liked his personality as well as looks, which was well… no.

Harry _did_ remember Cedric Diggory though, in grade 12 as a senior, who had been the best looking person he could recall… Harry had just been a sophomore but he knew Diggory was rather attractive in terms of looks could go; he never really talked to him much though and Cedric always seemed a bit quiet at practices and such.

And Oliver Wood, the team captain…

Alright, off track – besides those two, he couldn't think of anyone else. He had found plenty of women attractive too, though none compelling enough to sleep with them.

Hmm… Cho? She had made him feel rather fluttery and giddy inside, which he qualified as some sort of infatuation at the very least. He couldn't recall any other attractive females, and Cho hadn't exactly a _hottie_ (and Harry hoped never to use this word again). No, she had been a quiet, nice older girl who had a kind smile and looked nice in long dresses. Not much to contribute on the 'against' side of the fight, really.

There was a press and shift of fabric as Ginny sat on the bed, giving him an introspective look. Harry opened one eye lazily and attempted to smile, hoping fatigue didn't blur his features too much. He noted her casual wear, a pale blue blouse and some light jeans. Comfortable, and better looking than a pajama robe.

He also hoped his thoughts wouldn't bubble over onto the surface either, as the thoughts going through his mind right were rather interesting.

The redhead scowled slightly, obviously noting his lethargy. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." Responded Harry quickly—it was almost a reflex. It was good others couldn't read him as well as he could read them. He should get up from the bed, show Ginny that he wasn't quite as tired as he felt… but he couldn't. "Just a little bit tired."

She smiled warmly, ruffling his hair in an affectionate way. The ruffle went back a long, long ways, but it had really started with Ginny's noogy. Harry's scalp had stung for _hours_…

"Do you want to talk about that phone call?" teased the redhead, brown eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Not really," replied Harry, the sentence being interrupted with a yawn. "It was a pretty traumatic thing, anyways."

Ginny nodded, understanding. "You have a lot of messages." She pointed to the small black fax machine in the corner of the room on the mahogany desk. "I'd get to it if I were you."

The doctor nodded sluggishly—checking messages were not his first obligation at the moment, but the nurse would not be happy that he was ignoring them.

Getting up in a slow manner that made Ginny chuckle and glower at the same time, Harry made his way to the fax.

_68 calls missed, 19 new messages._

Harry groaned and then pressed the "Call Display" bar to get his messages.

_Message One. May 12th, 11:48AM. _A beep. 'Hey Harry! It's Neville. Your order for those psychology textbooks came in, we've got them at Flourish and Blotts if you want to come pick them up."

_Message Two. May 13th, 4:51PM. _Pause. 'Is this Doctor Potter's office? Oh please, I think my son's going crazy—he won't stop eating things, please _please_ come help Doctor, I really think—'

_Message Three. May 14th, 6:01PM. _'Doctor Harry James Potter, you have been invited to the International Corlazeone Psychology Convention in Sicily, Italy on June 15 to June 17. Please call us back 011390905627 to confirm your arrival.'

Harry grinned. "They invited me this year! This probably made my week. I didn't think they'd even consider inviting me back when I said I couldn't attend last year."

The doctor went through the rest of his messages, deleting most of the ones that included the crazy mothers or fathers that wanted their kid cured, the people who called _him_ to get themselves treated. He'd have to phone them back later and recommend some good clinics.

Though, how did these people _get his number_? He only gave specific people his business card and he hoped most of his employers didn't give out his information to anyone who asked.

_Message 19. May 14th_, _11:01 AM_. 'Is this Potter's number? I need you to call me back at… It's my personal cell number, I'd appreciate it if you don't indulge. Thanks...'

Harry paused. The voice didn't sound remotely familiar, yet the man on the phone called him with no title. He had a slight Oxford accent with something else mixed in… The recording stopped for a moment as the man stated his name.

'_Blaise Zabini._'


	10. Almosts

**A/N: **IT'S AN UPDATE! RUN, THE APOCALYPSE IS COMING!  
…joking. But I do apologize for the lack of updates in SO LONG!!

Minimal Draco in this sorry, there's not much for him to do in a cage without Harry. :(

Anyone miss me:P

If you're a previous reader and you have _not_ been reading my rewrites, **please** go read them. Chapter 1-9 has been partially rewritten and some things have changed majorly. Please read the previous chapters, otherwise you may have no clue what's going on!!

* * *

**Chapter 10**  
_Almosts_

Harry stared at the fax machine in shock.

B-Blaise Zabini?

As in former-best-friend-of-Draco-Malfoy Blaise Zabini?

The doctor stood, gaping at the phone for long, hanging moments. He had never even _had_ contact with any person that was named Zabini, so this couldn't be a coincidence…

The doctor reached to pick up the phone, only to find his hand shaking slightly. Why was he scared? It was just… a person Malfoy knew. So what?

Harry frowned, punching in the numbers slowly… He didn't know if this was such a good idea. If Zabini can reach his home phone, why couldn't he reach his cellphone? It would be easier to contact him too. _Though_, he thought, _if he wanted security, home phones couldn't be tapped as easily as cell phones._

The speculation just made him more nervous.

The phone rang two times before a voice answered. "Blaise Zabini; is this Potter?"

Harry hesitated for a split second—this really was not a good idea. "Yes… How did you know? You only called me a few hours ago."

"You are the only one I have recently given my personal office number, Potter." He chuckled, sounding amused.

The doctor quirked a brow. Zabini had a deeper voice than he expected; it made him sound old. "Ah… I see. So… Mr. Zabini… What is the reason for your call? Is it urgent?"

"You're treating Malfoy, correct?"

The phone almost slipped out of Harry's hands. So this _was_ about the him…

"Um—yes, I am. This is about him, isn't it?"

Another dry chuckle. "How could it not be? Potter, you'll have to learn that the _world_ revolves around him when you know him. He wanted something."

"A favour…?"

"Yes, a favour."

"Ah…" The doctor scratched his head. "So what would his favor be? What's the reason you needed to contact me?"

"Malfoy hasn't told me the whole thing completely." Replied Zabini with a pepper of mirth in his tone, "and I don't think he will for a while. Anyways, I want to meet you. He said it was probably a good idea too."

"Is that… it?"

"Well, to be truthful, _I_ wanted to meet you as well. It's not every day Malfoy resurrects a ten year old debt."

"I'm sure." The doctor attempted to reply with as much gratitude as he could, but found little ability to do so.

"Are you free tomorrow?"

Harry mulled his schedule over in his head. He should just say no… But even with the slight warmness in his voice, Blaise Zabini still sounded dangerous. "Umm yeah, I think so, I don't have anything set in stone. Just tell me a time."

"Shall we meet for lunch at 12? It'd be a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Potter, you're almost a celebrity."

"Um—yeah. That sounds fine. Where?"

"How about the Amici Restaurant? I'll give you directions if need be. I'll wear a gold tie to help identify me."

"Alright, that works."

"Then I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

There was a click as Zabini hung up. Harry stared at the receiver, feeling slight nausea washing over his system. Did he just book an _almost-date_ with his client's former best friend? Oh god. How was this going to work? He was supposed to go see Lupin sometime his weekend too, and he'd need to wire that five hundred to Sirius before he calls again…

Harry frowned, wondering where Ginny had gone. He'd need some help to get past his weekend… And it was suppose to be a _vacation_…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

After debating with Ginny about the lunch, she had convinced him it was probably a good idea not to ditch his new guest. Harry was getting curious too, in spite of obvious dangers, about Blaise Zabini. A ten year debt? And there was also the question of how the hell Malfoy reached him to call on his favour.

He and the woman went out to an French restaurant for dinner, Harry relishing the fact that he actually knew where the restaurant was without a map. Everything was so friendly… even the staff greeted them with familiarity as they stepped in. It was one of Harry's favourites,

He decided to create a rough schedule for the next two days—first of all, go see Zabini for lunch. While that happened, Ginny would retrieve his textbooks from Neville. Then they'd go over to Columbia, providing nothing interrupted them. On Sunday… hell, whatever came along was good. Maybe sleep for the entire day?

After the dinner was over, they returned to their apartments, where Harry was snoring before he hit the bed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

As Harry entered _Amici_, he immediately started looking for Blaise. He was just good with getting it over with—it couldn't last too long anyways and he might even benefit from the meeting, if Zabini tells him anything about his relationship with his client.

His bright eyes scanned the surroundings of the upscale restaurant, looking around for a man with a yellow tie… His name was Blaise Zabini, correct? It sounded Italian. Chances were, Zabini _was_ Italian. Alright…

The restaurant was beautiful, large windows allowing in rays of sunshine with hanging mirrors all over the area. The furniture looked hand-made and looked comfortable, the hardwood floor making it feel like home.

There was a pale man in the corner with auburn hair, wearing a suit with a golden tie… Was that him? He was talking on his phone, however, and sitting with another woman already. He fit the description; but the fact he was meeting with someone else meant he couldn't be meeting with Harry.

"Doctor Potter?"

The deep voice appeared behind him and Harry spun around.

_Woah_.

Okay, definitely not what he had thought Zabini looked like.

He was dark and taller than him by a few inches, skin a deep mocha colour, like well blended chocolate. His darker hair was pulled back in what looked like cornrows—Harry questioned whether his terminology was correct—and wore transparent gold-tinted sunglasses that covered his eyes. Conventional at best, Zabini wore a crisp black suit with a golden tie and looked like he was _almost_ a professional.

Zabini smiled wryly, gesturing to a preset table. "Shall we sit?"

Harry nodded numbly, his brain in both distress and awe. Okay, Zabini looked like a fucking Mafiya leader. But that's fine, right? _Right_?

As they took their seats, the dark-skinned man took off his sunglasses, glancing around him. "Doctor Potter… I have the feeling that you'd like to start off the questions?" He clasped his hands together and leaned back, looking at the man across from him expectantly.

"That'd be good, yeah," replied Harry with so much relief that it was almost palpable, "first off, I guess, is who are you? I know your name, and that's about it."

"I'm second in command Zabini Estates—it's centralized in Europe at the moment—mostly England and Italy, something I'm hoping to change, because I have found a new location for headquarters. I'll give you a guess to where I've picked."

Harry frowned faintly. "New York?"

"Yep, New York. All the powerhouses are doing it, so why shouldn't we?

"Wait, you're second in command? Then who's first?"

"My mother, Lucretia. She's a dangerously cunning woman."

Harry felt his brows rise unexpectedly. "What about your father?"

Zabini shrugged as casually as he could but the doctor saw the tensing of his jaw and neck at the mention of his parent. "I'm not sure. People say he may be in Sicily somewhere."

"Ah…" _Alright Harry, don't revisit that topic. _"What's your connection to Malfoy then?"

"We were friends in grade school, though Malfoy showed how intelligent he was, even at the age of 12."

The doctor put on a questioning face as the businessman continued his story.

"We were powerful, Potter, especially in Britain. Exponentially more than the Malfoys. He gained more than just a playmate the day he befriended me, he brought his own name the power that we carried."

"Are you bitter about it?"

"No, of course not. It was a very symbiotic relationship; we got business while Lucius Malfoy got his ties for court. My mother even said Draco had the spark for business too."

Harry nodded, in thought. "You talk very calmly of him… aren't you afraid of him? Or afraid of what he could do, now that you know he's in an institute?"

Zabini looked introspective. "I realize that but Malfoy is still Malfoy, even if he's supposedly crazy. I mean yes, he's killed people, but everyone does, especially in his business. He's only crazy because he got caught. He doesn't act crazy, am I right?"

Harry chose not to reply to the question. "But he killed his parents—is that normal?"

"No, that was something I had to overlook. He had troubles with his father, however, though I don't think it was turbulent enough to fuel anything like killing them."

"Troubles—?"

"Well, the typical Father-Son stuff, Malfoy wasn't up to his expectations, couldn't tolerate this and that… It never really affected Malfoy too much as it could've because he never was spurred to work any harder."

"I see…" _Did Malfoy lie about the reasons behind his parents' death?_ "How did Malfoy contact you?"

"He phoned me," said the dark man casually, "he does it every few months."

Harry gaped. "He has a phone? How the hell does he have contact with—"

"I have no clue, Potter," replied Zabini, motioning for a waitress to come nearer, "but he has one and he can certainly reach it."

The brunet wished he had a notebook now. He had to ask Draco about that phone business too… but he wouldn't be surprised if Pansy brought in hers whenever he asked. "_Damn_… Okay, so, what is the reason we're talking today? I mean, it's nice meeting you and all but—"

"I'll have to pull some serious strings for him later, but no, this is not part of the favour he's asked of. I just wanted to meet you for myself, out of curiosity."

_Serious… strings? Curiosity?_

"Well um, alright. As long as you don't… kill me or anything, I'm good." Harry tried to chuckle, but it sounded rather strangled. "Will I be seeing you again after this?"

"Are you looking for a second date, Doctor?" teased Zabini, flashing white teeth in a grin, the white contrasting with his dark skin.

The aforementioned doctor scowled. "You know I don't mean it like that."

"Of course not," replied the businessman in a smooth tone that was eerily similar to Malfoy's, "for both your sake and mine, I suppose."

Harry was about to reply to that odd line but the waitress interrupted him, and his stomach took over his brain.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

After the lunch, Harry was pleasantly full. Zabini had picked up the tab much to Harry's vexation—he was not a girl and that had not been a date. Despite the fact, he still enjoyed the meal and Malfoy's friend had been warm, if not a little edgy on some topics. Really, he had been friendly and nowhere as scary as Harry would have anticipated anyone that was remotely associated to the psychopath.

Ginny had been waiting for him in his Land Rover, a large bag in the back seat. "I got your books—how did the lunch go?"

"Pleasant, surprisingly. Zabini looks like a pimp, but that's fine."

She giggled. "Is that him?" She pointed to the car in front of theirs, with the dark man getting into it.

"Um, yeah, that'd be him. Are those cornrows? I still have no clue."

The redhead squinted. "Yeah, those are cornrows—wait, is that a Porsche Carrera?" She finished the sentence in astonishment.

"Um—I don't know? It's a nice car though."

They both looked at the convertible. Ginny crossed her arms, envious.

"I didn't know you were meeting with a spoiled bag…"

"Spoiled? I don't know. I just know he's got money, he seemed pretty nice though…"

"Spending five hundred grand on a car seems a little excessive, no?"

Harry squinted as the convertible took off. "Jeez, yeah a little… but it's his prerogative if he wants to spend that much on a car."

He put the vehicle in reverse gear, backing out of the parking space and driving back onto the main road. Content that he hadn't been targeted by anyone yet, and there was no laser sniper on his window. The doctor started to hum, which earned a crooked look from Ginny.

"Shall we go to Columbia, then?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

As soon as he parked the jeep in his old lot at the university, Harry felt glee rush into his system.

_I love endorphins_, thought the doctor happily, dragging Ginny through the double set of doors. They'd been here numerous times though, so the surroundings had been familiar, even to the redhead who rarely frequented the psychology wing of the institute.

They walked past the lecture rooms, a few professors stopping to greet Harry.

"Harry!" said the familiar voice of Professor Sprout, "glad to see you. Professor Lupin's been wondering where you've been." She winked and then chuckled, carrying a large pot of plants in her arms.

The doctor waved to his former biology teacher while Ginny grinned. "You know Harry, I think she likes you…"

Harry scowled and poked her in the rib before reaching a closed door with the plague that read '_Psychology Professor – Remus J. Lupin_'

He knocked twice, then paused before knocking the third time. There was a shuffle of footsteps and the door swung open, revealing an older, scruffy man with warm amber eyes and an inviting smile. He was dressed in a patched burgundy scholar's coat and darker pants and small glasses resting on his nose. Remus grinned, making his eyes crinkle in joy.

"Harry! Well this is a surprise, I haven't seen you in a few weeks now. What graces my classroom with your presence?"

The doctor smiled, pushing Ginny into the room. She smiled and waved, albeit a little weakly. To her surprise, Tonks brushed passed her behind Lupin, stepping out of the large lecture room without a hello. The redhead frowned, her instincts ringing in her head. She followed Tonks out into the hallway quickly, sensing something was wrong.

The brunet sat down, looking up at the notes on the blackboard, missing his teacher's sombre look as the pink-haired woman left. "How's class been, Professor?"

"Pretty good," replied Lupin, sobering up and meeting Harry's gaze on the board, "we've got a boy that has as much enthusiasm as you—though I'm sorry to say he lacks your touch for the subject."

"Who?" asked Harry with a smile, leaning back on the chair. "My enthusiasm was pretty much non-existent, though."

"A boy named Creevey. He's very upbeat but clumsy… alas. You had a love for the subject, which was good. He does too, but it's much less discrete."

Harry spun the chair around and stopped until he was faced to the sea of chairs. "How is Tonks doing?"

"I'm not really sure… she's seemed a little down ever since coming back from that apprenticeship with Professor Snape."

The brunet pushed his glasses further up his nose, thinking about the plane trip. She had been alright but she had been rather upset when discussing her feelings for their professor. His nose wrinkled in faint disgust at the thought of Snape. He was just plain _creepy_… He had only seen him once or twice when the other psychology professor had flown in from Georgia. He always had the expression of being constantly vexed and bitter and spoke quietly with lethal precision, with beady black eyes and hair that looked like it hadn't been washed in years.

"Have you talked to Snape about it?" asked Harry. He never liked Snape from the first look he had gotten from the greasy bastard, and he had a feeling the professor felt the exactly same way about him.

"No, but I might if it continues… I'm really concerned about her. I think I know what's going on, but I don't want to presume…" Lupin smiled sadly. "I just hope she'll talk to me about it… I think she was going to today before you guys arrived."

Harry sat up. "Oh god—we're sorry, I just wanted to come visit, I didn't know—"

"It's alright," replied Lupin sympathetically, "I think Ginny's talking with her right now."

Outside, Ginny was frantically trying to help the distressed student. Tonks was crying—not great heaving sobs, but small mews and whimpers that made her feel even worse.

"Tonks—please talk to me, oh, don't cry—"

"—I was going to do it, Ginny, I really was…" replied Tonks between sniffs, "I was going to tell him today… I swear, I was going to do it and I can't believe it…"

"Tell him what?" asked the redhead, offering her a depleted pack of tissues.

Tonks took it, her frame shuddering.

"I was going to tell him that I loved him."


	11. Last Resorts and Second Chances

**A/N:** SHE UPDATED? WHAT? This is the **real** chapter 11, by the way, sorry if your alerts updated weird last time. :(

Hey, I'm working hard. :) Or maybe hardly working... Haha. Draco is back next chapter! We miss him.  
_(I like using cliffhangers. Lol. :P)_

* * *

**Chapter 11**  
_Last Resorts and Second Chances  
_

Ginny sighed; she knelt down to level her eyes with Tonks' blue ones—well, they were blue today. The woman seemed to have a contact and dye fetish, as far as the redhead was concerned, as her appearance changed every few weeks.

"Tonks, dear. You almost told him? What stopped you?"

The pink-haired woman blubbered for a moment, blowing her nose into another tissue before peering up at Ginny meekly.

"I – he answered his cell phone and we got interrupted and then he had go to see Professor Firenze and then you guys came and it just… ah, I just didn't have time or the courage to say it."

The woman frowned minutely and sat down beside the woman, against the wall. "It's alright… it's not like he rejected you, Tonks." She said sympathetically, squeezing one of the student's hands. "Just try again. Look, me and Harry'll leave, alright?"

"I don't know if I can…" replied the woman hoarsely, "I don't… want him to look at him with those eyes and say 'Tonks, I'm glad you feel that way about me… but I don't think I'm the right person.'" She looked up at Ginny. "I don't want to hear that, Gins, I really… really don't."

"Tonks, you'll have to tell him one day, or get over him." Ginny replied with a sigh. "They're not great alternates, but you'll have to do one of them. Pining doesn't work and it'll just make you hurt. Trust me, I know." She gave a small, crooked smile. "Cheer up."

The psychology student nodded, and smiled back, handing the pack of tissues back to her friend.

"I'm going to go into that classroom and tell Remus that I love him."

It was that exact moment – to Tonk's dismay – that the door opened, revealing a rather stunned Professor and Doctor.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sirius frowned and hiccupped, looking at his phone in disapproval.

Harry had turned his cell off.

Which means Sirius had no means of contacting him about that five hundred… The landlady wasn't getting quieter, unfortunately, and had to resorted to screeching and throwing things at him when he had gone down to ask her for an extension.

He was late for about 3 months… The five hundred dollars wouldn't cover all of it but he'd work a few nights and patch it up, and it'd definitely shut Umbridge up. Crazy lady, for God's sakes.

Walking around the mountains of dirty laundry and garbage, he returned to his recliner and grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge next to the seat. Popping the lid with his tongue (one of his many talents), Sirius started to chug, feeling the warmth and familiar buzz return to his head. Why did Harry hate alcohol? It was such a great thing.

Why did Harry hate _him_?

He never really figured it out – it wasn't like he was rude or anything (usually quite the opposite), and he even invited Harry to his place every so often. Not that the doctor accepted – but still, it was a nice gesture, right? And asking for the money… well, Harry was a famous doctor and had oodles of cash, so why not borrow a bit here and there? Surely five hundred wouldn't make a dent in his wallet.

He stared at the beer bottle for a long second before placing it with the many others on top of the fridge, and resorted to staring at the ceiling. The alcohol had not fully set in, he knew, because he was feeling self-pity and guilt by the truckloads here. Sighing, Sirius leaned back on the comfortable chair and shifted his glance thoughtfully to the bottles on the fridge. How could something so beautiful be the source of his problems?

Sirius sometimes thought about other things – like how he could be in his 50's and not have a decent job or a family, and why he had never planned ahead. But then again, there were things that he thought would be there forever… Like James, Regulus, or the family's business and riches. The Black Empire had disowned him when he refused to attend or even _consider_ going overseas for university; no – he was staying right here with his friends, but it proved to be his undoing.

Everything got taken away from him at one point or another – he should just learn that. Harry'll soon hate him so much that he'll refuse to talk to him, unless he did something to change his ways.

But going sober was so complicated… and detoxing was painful. He knew firsthand, of course, through the multiple times he had tried to quit.

So he had two choices… Harry or alcohol?

It was such a hard decision too.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Tonks stood up, her eyes wide with panic. Oh – shit! This was not the way she had wanted to confess!

"O-oh p-profes-um, that wasn't – well it was but, oh god I don't know, a-ah—"

Ginny was frowning, annoyed to her shoulders by the imprudence. Really – men were so stupid! She gave a small glare at Harry who smiled meekly and hopped quickly out of the way, hoping to get away from the situation before it became too awkward.

Lupin looked a little less shocked now – more thoughtful and sad than anything. The man rubbed his brow, partially in expectance and partially in vexation that this was happening now.

"Tonks, may I have a word? I'm sorry Harry and Ginny, I'd like to talk to Nymphadora in private."

Even in her panic, the bright-haired woman scowled at her first name but did not dare to speak as her professor guided her into his classroom. Harry and Ginny watched the door close with a _click_ behind the two. There was a terse silence – the tension was almost palpable.

Finally, Ginny spoke. "Harry…"

"Hmm?"

"You're an idiot."

"What did I do?" he asked, indignant and the confused. "It wasn't my idea to open the door, you know."

Ginny scowled. "Well you knew about her feelings! You should've known she was breaking down outside, and prevented it somehow! Just a few seconds, I swear, and it would've been fine."

"I can't prevent the professor from opening his own goddamn door, Ginny!" replied Harry with sparks. He couldn't _believe_ this. It was _his_ fault that Tonks confessed early?

"Well you could've tried!" She shouted back, her voice cracking a little, surprising the doctor. Ginny frowned and folded her arms, appalled at her own outburst, and said more quietly, "She didn't want to confess like that…"

"I imagined so," said Harry with a shrug, "but what's done is done… They're talking right now, so we can only hope for the best…"

"Do you think he likes her in that way at all?" asked Ginny, her teeth starting to worry her lips – it was a nervous habit Harry knew quite well.

He gave a side-glance at the door. "I dunno, to be honest. He doesn't really go for looks, and I know he's concerned about that age gap. But he's got to be blind to not have noticed this before, so he has to have thought about it."

Ginny sighed, and Harry could feel her shoulders droop beside him. "I just want the best for her, Harry, she's loved Lupin for a really long time… It'll crush her if he doesn't have similar feelings."

"I know," he said quietly, "I hope the Professor knows what's riding on this."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

As they entered the classroom, Lupin felt a little overwhelmed. His suspicions were true – Tonks had feelings for him – but now as he sat her down in front of his desk and looked at the woman before him, his words seemed useless.

"Tonks – " he started, unsure of how to say what he felt. He liked her, really, he did, but… there were too many things that was wrong about the relationship, too taboo, too psychologically detrimental.

"Professor – Remus," she interrupts, her tone a weak, pleading one, "if you don't… think that way about me, please just… tell me. Flat out."

Remus didn't know how to handle this, because she sounded like she was going to shatter and he doesn't want her to break into so many pieces – but he can't just reply 'Yes' and have a torrid relationship with one of his students. It wasn't something he was willing to indulge in.

"Tonks," he tried again, pulling the woman's hands into his with a small, sad smile. "truth be told – I do like you, but… I am too old, too boring and too busy to keep you completely happy – you deserve someone much better than me."

"Why would you tell me that?" whispers Tonks, her hair falling over her face as tears brimmed in her eyes. "You tell me you like me… but you can't be with me? Why, professor… why…" She crumpled in front of him, and Remus frowns, trying not to let his own sorrow show. He did not have his dilemma often – people did not usually fall for him… he was not one of those people. He pulled Tonks into his arms and even though his conscience complains – holds her while she cries on his shoulder. Tonks only cries harder, her breath coming in sharp rasps. The older man offers her a tissue sympathetically and Tonks takes it with muffled thanks, blowing her nose.

The professor patted her awkwardly – Remus could practically _hear _her heart breaking. It distressed him but he knew the situation was out of his hands, because no matter what, he won't break the one rule he has set for himself.

He's found out the hard way that falling in love wasn't worth it.

Remus knew with a small pang of pain that he was probably being unfair, at least, to Tonks. She didn't deserve this, and he didn't deserve what she was offering.

The woman stood up shakily – Remus rushed to steady her but she refused, pushing away his limbs with clumsy defiance. He sighed, knowing the only emotion she could be feeling now was anger; so he backed away, allowing her an exit.

Tonks took it, walking out of the classroom without a word.

Remus sighs; he wasn't sure what he said or did was right. Being a psychology teacher wasn't helping him much in this situation.

The door opens and then slams shut; he winces at the sound, and wondered how Harry and Ginny will take it. He hoped they won't think less of him with this, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it would.

The man sighed and leaned back on the chair. He stared at the ceiling, and waited.

Outside, Ginny and Harry watched in horror as Tonks exited and slammed the door, walking quickly down the hallway with no word to either Ginny or Harry. They looked each other in confusion before Harry attempted to get up, only to find Ginny stopping him.

"What – Gins, but Tonks – " he said, but the woman shook her head wearily.

"Don't." she replied quietly. "Something obviously happened, just leave Tonks alone for a bit. Just… don't, Harry."

He relented and nodded. "What about the Professor?"

Ginny shrugged, "He's an adult Harry, and a psychology professor. I think he'll be alright."

"Being a psychology teacher doesn't help him very much, Gins, especially with a girl like Tonks."

"I can see a major doesn't help," snapped the woman, replying with a little more spite than she intended. She clamped her mouth shut as Harry raised a brow and gave her a strange look, but had the grace to blush slightly.

"You alright, Ginny?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just a little stressed."

He shrugs, appeased by the answer. It made sense – but if Ginny had a real problem, he knew she'd ask him. Stress, home-sickness… they were small, but the two helped each other cope with the every-day things.

"Should we go back now? I mean… our visit was cut short by um… this."

Ginny nodded and they make their way back to the land rover. The woman still seemed a little preoccupied and she was frowning, biting her lip in thought. Harry thought it best not to disturb her, so they had a particularly speechless and silent trip back to the complex.

She slid out of the jeep and into the apartment complex without a word, leaving Harry lightly puzzled. He took a shower, feeling the virulent beads of water on his skin, fiddling the knob for the perfect temperature. He reflected on the day, which was rather packed – but not without its surprises, and on Ginny's strange behavior. Maybe it was just that _time of month_?

The man stretched on the bed, reviewing his schedule. His weekend was coming to an end already… it was a shame. Tomorrow… would just be relaxation. The doctor changed into comfortable slacks, lounging around and just enjoying his city, watching cars travel up and down the street and the skyscrapers dazzle outside his window.

Harry remembered drifting off to bed – he had really only intended to lie in bed and think for a while – but he felt his eyelids grow heavy with every passing minute and finally seceded to sleep.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Remus frowned, searching for his keys in one of the many pockets of his jacket, hearing the jangle within the crevices _somewhere_. He grumbled as he passed a group of young adults giggling, and one of them had the nerve to offer him a drink, which he politely refused. _Why_ did the University have to be built next to a chain of bars? He didn't particularly indulge in drinking, but when he had been in University, he had a rather high alcohol tolerance so Remus was always the designated driver while James, Sirius and Peter had all been to drunk to see straight…

Finding the keys eventually, he crossed the street to the Columbia parking lot, searching for his car in the Staff Reserved area. As he approached his battered chevy, he heard a rumbling giggle behind him.

"Moony!" The voice belonged to a man – eerily familiar, and only a few called him that. The professor didn't particularly want to turn around and see who it was (he had a good idea anyways), so he continued to fiddle with his keys in the scant light, looking for the right one. Maybe he'd go away if ignored?

Not a chance of that. The giggle crescendoed and a hand gripped his shoulder. "Moony, s'it you? Hahaha…" He broke off into a fit of laughter. The professor sighed and turned around, dislodging the limb.

"Sirius." He said it wearily – obviously having expected this for a while now, but dreaded what could happen.

"Yep, thas'name." Replied the man with a grin and a wink and Remus can't help but smile slightly, but it's erased after he realizes his former friend is wandering the streets alone with a beer bottle and apparently nothing else.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with barely-masked exasperation, trying not to sound too bitter.

Sirius shrugs and looks at the bottle in his hand with unfocused eyes, but returns his gaze to Lupin. "I'unno. I think m'crazy landlady evicted me but I can't be sure…" He squinted in the air, as if staring at nothing would help his mind re-organize itself.

It doesn't though – and Sirius realizes it too and scowls.

Lupin kneaded the bridge of his nose – he knew what was going to happen. "You got evicted? I thought you were paying your rent?"

"Well ye – but Harry hasn't given me th'cash so she kicked me out…"

They both paused, looking at each other for a few awkward seconds. Remus took the few seconds to analyze his old friend. Sirius hadn't bothered with shaving or cutting his hair, it seemed, because he sported stubble and a five o'clock shadow and his black hair trailed off around his shoulder blades, sporting the occasional gray hair. He was reminiscent of a homeless man… which, ironically, was what he was at the moment.

"So uh – Rem, could I, uh, crashwichuforawhile?" He bunches the last few words together and exhales, looking hopeful. Sirius knew Remus was a kind, sympathetic person who would help an old university buddy –

"No."

"Huh – what?" sputtered Sirius. "Why not?"

"Because you're a 55 year old alcoholic that needs to depend on others for rent, food and a living." Said the professor coolly, attempting to establish a mask. It doesn't work very well, and Remus knows. Sirius was never one for masks, being one that could see through his.

Sirius frowned, stiffening a little. His giggles had disappeared quickly with the intoxication, but his words were still slurred.

"Yeah but Rem, I need help! Immagonna go sober righ'after this, 'n I have a job! C'mon Moony, help me out?"

"No, Sirius, because you're going to have to realize that people aren't waiting on your every whim." He said firmly but he felt guilty for refusing his friend, but Sirius had to learn, and he wasn't going to secede to his wishes.

"One night? Jusso I can find 'nother place to go. Or you could drive me to a shelter…"

"No, Sirius."

"Pleas-s-s-e?" He whined, looking hurt, and Remus frowned, remembering how Sirius Black looked startling akin to a shaggy dog. _Padfoot_, he thought with amusement. _The nickname always suited him._

"Moony! Rem! ...Remus?" Sirius tried, as if saying the professor's different names could sway his decision.

"I said no," repeated Lupin. How long was this going to be? How long did he have to refuse until Sirius understood the word?

"Just t'night! C'mon Moony, what happened to you? You were n'ver like this… Just help me out once."

The psychology professor felt a headache coming on, but he was too tired to stand there and duke it out with Sirius Black. He never won in their arguments, anyways, because Padfoot was too spontaneous and ridiculous and unreasonable.

"One night." Said Remus with a resigned sigh. He just caved and he knew it. Why did it always turn out this way?

"One night," repeated Sirius with a near howl, reaching over to hug his old friend, but the university professor stopped him curtly and pointed to the bottle.

"I hope you're recycling that," he said with a tired smile, unlocking the car.

"You're a nut," replied Sirius with a pout, "but I'll do it since it's for you, Moony."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Harry woke up the next morning feeling a lot better than he had in a few days – his head was clear, there were no headaches and he didn't have a sore bone in his body. The doctor looked up and swore quietly – he had left the lights on when he drifted off – and dragged his body to the switch. Harry stood there for a few minutes, staring at his room and silently comparing it to the meager cell he'd be returning to tomorrow.

The doctor heaved a dolorous sigh and tried not to think about it.

He was just out of it, he reassured himself before brushing his teeth and hair, trying to think of what to do today. He entertained the notion of contacting Zabini again for a questionnaire, but quickly expels that idea. He 'wasn't a dog to be called on for information' (the businessman had told him with a cool tone at their luncheon) and Zabini had assured him that _he_ would find Harry if he needed him.

It wasn't a comforting thought, really.

After pulling on a comfortable t-shirt and a new pair of slacks, he made his way to Ginny's and rapped on the door to ask if she'd be interested walking to Central Park. They did it periodically on weekends, simply because Ginny was a big fan of 'active living' and they'd started visiting the New York tourist spot ever since Harry gave up running.

There was silence – not even shuffling could be heard. Harry scowled and relented; _fine, he'll just go alone_… It didn't really bother him much, though – she had probably gone out or doing extra work at the clinic or something. It may have concerned him more if he didn't have other more pressing matters on his mind – Malfoy, Mattewan, Dumbledore, all those stupid little pieces of the killer's past that were lost somewhere in the psychopath's conscience were good examples.

Harry wondered vaguely about his client, his thoughts still hazy from sleep. Malfoy wasn't hard to figure out – well, he _shouldn't_ be. There was truly nothing about the blond that was strange or out of place – maybe _he_ was the one making it complicated? It was bizarre reasoning but in Harry's defense, he wasn't quite awake yet.

Clambering down the hallway, the doctor reasoned to himself that he did _not_ want to be stuck with Malfoy for longer than necessary. Complicating things was not something he wanted to indulge in.

Taking himself down the elevator, the doctor decided to abandon all thoughts of jobs and obligation. Thinking too much never killed anyone, but he wasn't going to take the chance today.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A hand was hovering above the phone tentatively; a silver beard twitched as its owner frowned.

Dumbledore's azure eyes scanned his surroundings – he doesn't want to pick up the phone and call this man because no matter what he says, the dean always feels something unnatural and ominous surrounding him.

The doctor tucks away those feelings, eyes grim. He was the best, however. There was no denying that.

He punched in the numbers slowly, waiting for the customary tone to ring in his ear. The elder's eyes followed the name displayed on the LCD screen, a tiny prick of irrational fear burning a hole through his stomach.

_Tom Riddle._


	12. Session 7: One is the Keyword Here

**A/N:** I am in Toronto and for the next… 2 weeks, I'll be doing nothing but writing. :( And shopping (yay!) but mostly staying in this new house (with nothing in it except for like… a mattress, which is what I'm typing on) and writing.

Expect a lot of updates, lmao. D:

Thank you **thrnbrooke, SilentSleepingInTheCold, Angeloffire101, fantasizeaway33, fufu a.k.a. speechless, MagicalWinry, IchigoMARS, doragon41, Arwen Applestone, Meyshi** and** the Human Machine **for reviewing. :D I love you guys!! I'm very sorry for the lack of Draco the past two chapters (I miss him too), he makes a comeback here. :)

IchigoMars – Yes I realize I keep switching in tense and I think I gotta practice more, I'm so out of it haha. Hopefully there's not so much confusion in this ch. :D

Doragon41 – Sorry:( But he's coming right up.

I'm still thinking about Tom Riddle! There's pros and cons of the position I want him to fill, so I'm debating changing him. :P You'll get your answer in the next chapter, definitely.

**edit:** KAY LOL, I fixed a few things. ;; Sorry I didn't read up properly on my facts lmao (okay the biopsy thing was just weird.. it should be autopsy XD superfail! I thought I've watched enough CSI to cover that by now. D8 Guess not!)

Tony Blair became PM in May of 1997, yes, Draco knows about it. :) Perhaps I should add a little Draco-sarcasm-correction into that section? Harry is not a great lover of History (as proven in both the books and this fic) so his depicting of Tony Blair would've only been accurate because he wouldn't have known when Tony Blair was instated as PM and would have presumed Draco wanted to know something as important as the PM of his country, but he wouldn't probably have been all that interested because he lived in New York for the majority of his life. (Hopefully without the accent, haha) Furthermore, Harry does not particularly think highly of either his President or the British PM and would not go into detail to find out when either of them were instated, though he'd know when Bush came to presidency in 2001 because he most likely saw it on the news.

Though, I'll change 'now' to 'still' and hopefully that makes Harry seem more articulate.

If anyone sees corrections or errors, please tell me! I have no problem with them at all, I'd just appreciate you'd leave your e-mail so I can message back with a thanks. :)

* * *

**Chapter 12**  
_Session 7: One is the Keyword Here_

On the flight back to Buffalo, Harry was sulking. Ginny hadn't talked to him all Sunday – she had virtually disappeared, for she wasn't there in the mornings, or at night and Harry knew there was something wrong. His Sunday had consisted of lounging around, ignoring calls (Harry actually disconnected the phone after a few hours of ringing), surfing the internet and such leisurely activities, of course, without Ginny. He had had the creeping suspicion that she might be plotting something sinister for his last day as a prank, but she was simply gone, without a trace.

He figured that he had probably pissed her off somehow but Ginny was not the type of woman who bottled it up and spouted a random '_You know what's wrong_' when asked. She _told_ him, flat-out – bluntly. This sometimes ended in nasty quarrels but they never lasted too long… the fact that Ginny was hiding was very unusual indeed.

The doctor didn't like the thought of his best friend leaving him, even for a day – he felt a little stripped – naked, if you will. There was a twinge of fear in there too – what if something had happened to her? He watched shows like the different variations of CSI and Cold Case and those murder dramas and knew even if they were fictional, there was still a possibility that she was missing. The notion scared the living _hell_ out of him, and Harry vowed to attempt to call her cell as soon as he got off the plane.

_You're being paranoid again_, he thought to himself, rummaging inside the duffle bag to locate his cell phone while the plane landed. As soon as he stepped foot inside the Buffalo international airport, he quickly speed-dialed the woman.

Harry decided to sit in Starbucks, sipping a cappuccino and listening to the tone over and over again. She wasn't picking up! Damnit Ginny, pick up!

The tone clicked.

_Success! _"Ginny!"

There was a breathy rasp from the line before the woman spoke quietly – it was a dangerous quiet, Harry could tell, like a calm before the storm.

"Potter," said the voice with zeal, "take a goddamn _hint_! If I avoid you for a day and refuse to pick up the phone, does that mean I want to talk to you?"

Harry stared at his phone before Ginny abruptly hung up on him.

"Wow," he muttered, snapping the SLVR closed, "_someone_'s on the swing set today."

Well, at least she wasn't dead.

After the doctor grumbled a little more, he claimed his rented SUV from the second level parking and proceeded to Mattewan, feeling his mood worsen with every kilometre covered.

Harry could tell already, that today was going to be a very bad day.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**7th Session  
May 17th  
Mattewan Psychiatric Institute  
Client: Draco Malfoy  
Diagnosed with: Psychopathy**

Harry checked in with Dumbledore briefly, who had seemed amazed that he had actually returned but he had smiled, looking a little more relieved. Harry assured the Dean that he had no intentions of quitting until he (a) helped Malfoy or (b) died. Of course Dumbledore didn't take him seriously on the last point (and even though the psychiatrist had said it in jest, but it didn't really seem funny anymore) but looked slightly less stressed than before, minute traces of that sparkle returning to his eyes.

He also noticed that the Head Doctor, even with the jokes and the laughter, seemed much more strained than from a few days ago, as if something excruciating had happened – the elder had developed more worry lines and wrinkles (if that were possible) from his constant knitted brows and frown. However, Dumbledore chose not to report on his actions and Harry did not feel it was in his right to inquire; so he left it alone, feeling a little worried if nothing else.

Stepping out of the double doors, Harry knew what came next. He sighed and wrung his hands for a few minutes, trying to distract himself. But there was no way around it – next up: Draco Malfoy.

Harry stumbled down the steps to the _Long Term_ ward, trying not to feel too nervous. He hadn't brought anything and hoped it would be a successful ploy against the psychopath, showing his guards were down and he wasn't trying to do this for money or prestige or ego…

The doctor opened the wrought gate and stopped in front of the door, punching in the security code and waited tentatively. The hydraulics kicked in, sliding the door out – slowly and dramatically, to Harry's vexation.

Doctor and client locked eyes.

"Welcome back, Potter." said Malfoy softly and Harry exhaled to keep his knees from buckling and swore quietly, wondering what was wrong with him. Nothing had changed over the past two days, nothing at _all_. Why did he feel so hesitant?

"Thanks," replied the doctor stiffly and sat down – why did the chair feel so weird? – looking around the cell, keeping his eyes from Malfoy. "What did you do this weekend?"

"I redecorated," Malfoy's sarcasm was so hard to ignore that Harry visibly clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening. "No Potter, I did _nothing_ this weekend. Two days without the sexy flustered doctor was hell."

Harry tensed – was that comment aimed at _him_? "Uh, Malfoy – "

" – yes, I'm talking about you," replied the convict with a satisfied smile. Harry blanched a little, which was considerably better than flushing red like he might have done – showed fear and disgust rather than embarrassment.

"I see you've gotten a few things straightened out," said the doctor bitterly. So much for nothing, huh…

"I have indeed," agreed Draco, trying not to look too smug, "though it didn't really take too long, to be honest."

"You always did seem a little queer," said Harry bluntly, trying to stir up a response. "I guess it's not much of a surprise to me?"

Draco shrugged apathetically. "Gender doesn't matter all too much to Potter, you just have to be attractive… which you are. I can see you didn't go on your own self-exploration."

"Actually, I think I did a little," responded the doctor almost wearily, thinking about his wonderful weekend and trying not to blush with that brusque compliment, "I'm not sure if it was entirely enlightening, though."

"Then it wasn't self-exploration… unless you meant _that_ sort of self-exploration." Malfoy's smile grew wider and wondered briefly if Potter would catch the tasteless implication.

It took him a few seconds. Half of the convict almost laughed at Potter's oblivity, but the other half wanted to throttle the doctor into the next cell.

"What… sort? It's just exploring yourself – oh…" Harry wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, not that Malfoy, sorry. I imagine you'd like to see that, though."

"Is that a offer?"

"No."

Draco scowled. "Tease."

"I'm not doing anything," replied Harry mildly, lacing his fingers in his lap, "I'm not suggesting anything either. I don't know how many times I've said this, but I'm not interested."

"You don't expect me to give up, now do you Doctor?"

"If only it were that simple. No, I don't, but I'm not going to pay attention to it either."

The psychopath raised a brow casually and smiled – that creepy Cheshire cat smile that scared Harry to no end. "Alright then, Potter. Are we going to start a session? We could just sit here and observe each other, though, I'd enjoy that too."

Harry coughed, suddenly looking nervous. "Um – no, that's not necessary. I met your friend Zabini on Saturday; he seems to recount a few interesting things…"

Draco frowned minutely. "Hmm?" Had the stupid git spilled something important? He'd have the businessman's head on a platter if he said anything _remotely_ incriminating… Though, he hadn't really released much to Zabini in the first place.

"Well, I'm sure it's a touchy subject Malfoy, but he seemed to have mentioned your father – Lucius, was it? – as an aggravator of sorts in your life."

He cringed, feeling a coolness curl in the pit of his stomach. "I never denied it."

"You never informed me either when you told me about your parents."

"_You_ said you had to leave," Draco's tone was cool and a little detached, his attention returning back to his garments.

"Is this a sensitive topic for you Malfoy? We can drop it for today if you'd like."

"Of course not," replied the psychopath with vigor, looking more noticeably irked than Harry had seen him before, "poke it all you want. You think pressing me about my dead parents will produce any good results?"

"I don't know, will it?"

"No."

"Hmm. He has a good recount of your life – like how you 'leeched' off his power in Britain."

"Is that what that bastard said?" said Malfoy, mouth twisted in an ugly glower. "They held more power originally, true, but I did not _leech_. We benefited from each others' ability; he also experienced a rise when we fell from power."

"You mean when you killed everyone?"

"Why, yes Potter, how sensitive of you. That's exactly what I meant."

"He also seemed to think you're not particularly insane. Or mentally challenged."

"Do I _seem_ insane to you?"

Harry mused on the question philosophically. "Well no, you kind of imitate humanity – but the killing people without a blink is kind of barring you."

"God Potter, you're depicting that I actually _enjoyed_ killing… I just do it. There's no emotion attached to it – I don't feel happy or guilty or any of that bullshit."

"Then why? Because you were bored? Come off it Malfoy. You enjoy the limelight don't you? All those reports… the people, the fear."

Malfoy glared sourly at him. "That's a pile of bollocks."

"Well, you're not doing it to get a sense of happiness from it… You're not doing it to get that rush of adrenaline or endorphins – you must be doing it for a _reason_."

"Maybe I just don't have one?"

"I think you wanted people to acknowledge you, Malfoy, like your parents and the world. Taking people's lives… must have done that. The cameras and the anger must have been intoxicating, no?"

The blond growled. "I don't kill for _attention_, Potter."

The doctor had caught on something though – he could tell by the way Draco had suddenly buried himself under his defenses. He was prying, oh dear.

"No, because if you _did_ kill for attention, that would make you one hundred percent _human_."

Draco's eyes bulged slightly.

"I _am_ human, Potter, have you not gotten that yet? What do I look like, an alien?"

Harry smirked and leaned back on the chair, making it groan softly, silently thanking Blaise Zabini for slipping that little gem into their conversation. Draco fucking Malfoy was finally flustered – it was about time.

Draco caught the smug look and snarled automatically, staring down his thin, straight nose at the doctor. "What the fuck is so funny, Potter?"

"You're defensive," Harry said, trying not to laugh because he knew the situation was dangerous and everything, but Malfoy looked a little cross-eyed with his eyes narrowed so much –

There was a distinct cracking sound, rivets and bolts sliding out of place and Harry's chair fell apart, dumping him ungracefully on the floor.

Harry didn't even flinch as he fell, momentarily stunned.

There was some sort of muffled gargled noise and Harry looked up, expecting the psychopath to be over him with a knife.

But no – no weapon at all. Malfoy was _laughing_ – you couldn't tell instantly because the blond was holding his hand over his mouth, successfully masking the sound – but the expression of mirth was undeniable.

Harry blinked. Was he _crying_? Indeed, there were small translucent drops at the corners of his eyes and the silver irises did look a little shinier than normal. The doctor scowled and got up, dusting himself. Damnit, he was going to get bruises…

"Glad to see you have tear ducts," said the doctor dryly, straightening his sweater and pointed to the rubble. "Did you do that?"

The blond coughed madly, trying to breathe again. After a few seconds, he revealed a small black bolt clutched in his long fingers and grinned. "It was a '_Welcome back_' present for you, Potter."

"I appreciate it," replied Harry, smiling crookedly. He looked around the cell. Where was he going to sit now? He could get a nurse to bring in another chair, but that seemed a little petty to him, so he took a seat beside his client on the bench.

"I hope you don't mind, Malfoy."

"Not at all, Doctor."

"Now, back to the topic on hand. Would you like to talk further?"

A brief pause.

"What do you need to know, Potter?"

"_I_ don't need to know anything. I'm asking _you_ if you'd like to talk." Harry smiled professionally, adjusting his glasses.

The psychopath grimaced, rolling his eyes. "Bullshit. You're not doing this for me."

"I'm not doing this for you – I'm doing it for the book rights and the cash." Harry returned the sour look. "Of _course_ I'm doing this for you, Malfoy, because it'll eventually help _me_ to help _you_! Why do you think I came here in the first place?"

"For the ego gratification?" responded the psychopath sullenly, one hand gripping his gray sheets.

"Right, now why didn't I think of that?" quipped Harry, "Look, if you don't want to talk, why don't you just say so?"

"Fine! I don't want to talk about it! Happy, Potter?"

Harry sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We'll just avoid the topic then."

Malfoy didn't give a response but laid back against the wall, watching the doctor with narrowed eyes. First day back and Potter was being a pain in the arse to talk to, and he was hard to distract today, too. How annoying.

"What, you're angry at me now?" asked the raven-haired man with a small smile, trying not to be too amused. It only seemed to piss Malfoy off which was counterproductive, to say the least.

"Of course not," purred the psychopath, recovering quickly. He was thinking quickly – how to take advantage of this situation? He was going to prove Potter wrong, of course. He always did.

"You know Potter, I'm going to offer you a very decent proposal. I've never offered anyone this, so you should feel a little privileged."

Harry frowned, unable to stop himself from being intrigued. "Which is…?"

"I'll tell you any one thing – _one_ thing, mind you – for a kiss."

The doctor bristled. "What kind of offer is _that_? I'm not a prostitute, Malfoy."

"I'm not asking you to sleep with me, doctor… It's a very good one, mind. I'm giving up much more than you are."

"Absolutely not." Harry clamped his lips together, looking furious.

"Scared?" replied Draco with a sneer, clearly amused. "I guess you're not permitted to have relationships with your clientele?"

"That's right."

Draco leaned in, mere centimeters away from the doctor and smiled wolfishly – close enough for Harry to see his client's golden lashes in the sparse sunlight.

"A kiss doesn't really qualify as a relationship, does it Potter?"

In the silence, the blond heard, rather than saw Harry swallow clearly and snickered gently.

"Anything? I could ask you about… Dumbledore… your father?"

"_One_ thing. Nothing matters enough that I would hide it."

Harry frowned, managing to look extremely uncomfortable with the convict in such close proximity, but refused to allow himself to move back. He shot Malfoy a particularly withering look to distract any uh, _compliance_ that might have been stirring.

"And _why_ are you presenting me this privilege?"

"It's mutualism," replied Draco airily, "I get something I want while – "

" – I get something _I_ want," Harry sighed, vexed that he was actually considering it. "I was a biology nerd, Malfoy, I'm familiar with the term."

"Then… is it a deal?"

Harry paused, weighing the pros and cons. "You'll tell me… anything?"

Draco rolled his eyes in ire, returning to his regular drawl. "Yes Potter, I think you've almost got it."

He noted with dispassion that Malfoy was rather close to him now – _too_ close, he can see his tentative expression reflected in the psychopath's pale eyes. He hesitated with a reply. The blond was waiting patiently, a good-natured albeit slightly hungry smile lingered on his face.

And then Harry leaned in, wondering for a second if _he_ should be the one in here… this was crazy.

The kiss was long and sweet with no presence of tongue or anything other than… a kiss. The blond's lips were warm and a little dry but not unpleasant – not even close. He felt Draco's lips part slightly under it and actually considered deepening it when said client withdrew from the kiss.

Harry moved back, clearly more than a little confused. The blond snickered and folded his legs in front of him.

"Can't be having a relationship, can we Doctor?" He asked nonchalantly, eyes flickering with unveiled amusement, "Now, what would you like to know?"

Harry scowled, but gave thought to the second question. What would he choose? He chewed his lip, thinking. For one question… Like what Dumbledore had to do with him, how the Dean knew his parents, what his father did to him…

But there was one question that nagged at him. Just _one_. Should he waste this opportunity to ask? It wouldn't help the case; not at all...

"The deaths in your doctor history… were they your doing?"

Draco looked slightly surprised but sneered, his tone cold and condescending. "_That's _what you picked, Potter?"

"Just answer." Harry felt his hands shake faintly in their sleeves, wondering why he was so nervous… It wasn't like the answer (which could go both ways) would surprise him… Right?

The psychopath cast a disinterested glance at the doctor's imperceptible tremble before scooting closer on the bench, his sneer never fading from his lips. Harry could feel the blond's warm breath.

"Every. Single. One."

Harry gaped at him in horror. "E-every single one? B-but… what about bodies – where would you put them? You can't get out – oh god don't tell me they're in this cell – "

The convict sighed, his smile quickly displaced by an expression of disdain, decided to grip the doctor firmly by his arms, making eye contact with the black haired man.

_Jesus fucking Christ, he has beautiful eyes,_ thought Draco with a spattering of reluctance. _Bright emerald green._

"Potter. Snap. Out. Of. It." He said clearly, enunciating each word without a trace of humour, "Did you _just_ realise I'm in here for a reason? What, that all the police records you've read are just lies?" The blond released him, features frozen and mirthless. "You're not dealing with an institutional piece of meat, Potter, I think it's high time you snapped out of that watercolour dream."

Harry stared at him, afraid to move.

"B-bodies?" he uttered softly, green eyes falling to his hands at the long overdue epiphany. _Oh God, what was he doing… He had stopped being a doctor in the last few days… This wasn't right._

There was a soft, brittle laugh that sounded odd even to Harry's ears, and he raised his head slowly. Malfoy was laughing again, but the laugh was strange and it doesn't reach the blond's eyes, but if it did, it could probably rival the twisted look he wore now.

"That requires another price," he said smoothly, "remember, Potter – I said _one_ question."

Harry flinched and stood up abruptly, making his way to the exit, feeling his self-control slip away quickly. Something seemed to have hit home finally – and he did not particularly feel any better about it after kissing the aforementioned murderer. Draco watched him leave with a sadism that could not be described and blew a mocking kiss to the doctor as he turned to leave.

He had _dominated_ the first part of the session… he had gotten Malfoy angry. How the hell did he come from _that_ to flailing outside in realisation?

Harry stumbled out of the cell.

_Damn._

His head was swimming, his breaths came out in short rasps and the doctor felt a little like throwing up. The door closed behind him without a sound and Harry fell into a squat, sitting on the hospital floor with his head in his hands.

Fuck, fuck, fuck… 

He had just kissed a _murderer_, a _serial killer_… Malfoy took people's _lives_; he ruined families…

Why then, did Harry still felt like he wanted more?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Sirius!"

The shaggy man jolted from the couch, blinking rapidly. The first object that met his eyes was the fuzzy form of a person… who was it?

"Wha – what? Rem?"

There was an exasperated sigh, and Remus came into focus. Sirius shielded his eyes from the blinding amount of sunlight, feeling needles spear his brain. Someone (he presumed Moony) pushed a mug into his hands, burning his fingertips slightly.

Black stared at the drink.

"What is this – "

" – tea for your hangover," finished Lupin with a sympathetic smile, trying to look disproving but failing. "Are you alright?"

Sirius groaned and sipped the liquid, giving it a good taste around his mouth. "Alright, I guess. You put the right amount of sugar in, thanks Moony."

"You never liked tea without massive amounts of sugar," replied the professor softly, letting his hands fall to his lap unused as he leaned back on the couch that the homeless man had crashed in the previous night.

"I… don't like tea, period." said Sirius with a grin, throwing a cushion at the contemplative teacher. "But thank you anyways. My head's still a little airy, though."

Remus caught it with a bemused smile but didn't retaliate because of the mug in his hands.

"Isn't it always like that?"

"Hey!"

Lupin grinned as Sirius seized a second cushion and chucked it viciously at him. He caught it fluidly, plumping it and setting the cushion behind him. "Where are you going today?"

"Going?" asked Sirius curiously, swearing as he scalded his tongue.

The professor sighed. "You said… one night, Sirius. _One_ night."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence before Sirius spoke again.

"Uh… well. I guess this isn't a great time to tell you I'm unemployed?"

" – WHAT?"

Sirius lowered his gaze bashfully. "Uh – yeah… M'boss fired me for getting drunk on the job… A couple days before I got evicted."

"You – agh, you said you had a job yesterday!"

"I say stupid things when I'm drunk!"

"Yeah, I can see that," replied the professor, throwing his hands up. "What are you going to do?"

"I… don't know. I was hoping that I could crash with you for a little longer."

"Sirius, I said – "

" – I know what you said! If you want to kick me out, just do it. I'm not going to beg." Said Black, scowling. He was annoyed at his own helplessness and didn't like the prospect of indebting himself to his friend just to keep himself under a roof.

Remus scowled and threw a pillow back, annoyed at himself more than his former classmate. "You can… stay here until you get a job. When you do, you'll have to pay me back for services used and food eaten. Alright?"

Black's face split into a giant grin that looked almost painful to maintain and crushed Lupin in a equally giant hug. Remus coughed and attempted to disentangle himself from the bundle of limbs, trying not to smile.

Damn, Padfoot was so infectious.

"You're like a hemorrhoid." said the professor grudgingly.

Sirius' grin widened – if it were possible – and whispered quietly, "you'll never get rid of me."

Remus shoved him on the couch, feigning disinterest. "I have work. Stop distracting me."

"Yes, professor." He grinned and flopped back on the couch for some well-deserved rest.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dumbledore was waiting outside of Mattewan, briefly thinking about how déjà vu the situation was. His palms were sweating lightly and those electric blue eyes were scanning the area almost frantically. A big ball of dread had grown in his stomach, spawning from that tiny burning prick.

_You don't have to do this,_ he reasoned to himself, closing his wrinkled eyelids. _You can call this off._

There was a faint rumble as a car drove up – black, dynamic and expensive.

_Too late._

A man stepped out of the Porsche and Dumbledore was close enough to see him squint disdainfully at the surroundings. Riddle certainly liked the colour black quite a bit, his pristine suit and dress pants the same drab colour.

There were no sound as the man walked towards him, a smirk on those lips. He had hollowed cheeks, a high brow and presented a dangerous elegance that followed him like a deadly aura.

"Dumbledore." Said Riddle, dark eyes, smoldering with unkempt malevolence.

"Mr. Riddle," said the Dean, feeling his throat dry up the moment the dark-haired man had spoken, "welcome to the Mattewan Institute."

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked, smiling innocently, "it must be a large situation if the Head of the Doctor Decree is calling on me."

Dumbledore found it hard to smile, but tried to anyways. "You are very good at damage control, Mr. Riddle… I believe Mattewan has some need of your services."

"I'd be glad to provide them," replied Riddle with a bone-chilling smile. "For a price, of course."


	13. Session 8: The Sweet Scent of Conspiracy

Ok, totally missed the deadline. I was supposed to upload yesterday but I had to go to this weird Nutritional Immunology lecture at the University… So, uh, yeah, that sucked. Sorry everyone! This chapter is longer than all the others… stupid pivotal points in the plot. :(

Que giant pre-story spiel! Feel free to scroll through this.

Thanks **Evil Ball of Fluff, fuku a.k.a. speechless, Meyshi, Nightshade218, fantasizeaway33, fifespice, Aaye, the Human Machine, Slytherin.Pryncess.666, kelli, Ivinia Niimura-ko, Myseveredwill, Dukes LoverThrnbrooke, Answers, Katlyn, NeverLoveAnother, Miss brownie, SleepingSilentInTheCold, Reigning Fyre** and **Angeloffire101 **for reviewing. :) I heart you guys lots!!

_Answers _– No evil doctor, sorry. XD (Isn't that a little cliché? Harh) I'm pretty sure Riddle isn't even evil, he's just a little greedy… and likes his power over Dumbledore.

_Katlyn _– Thank you very much! I'm greatly honoured to be complimented so highly.

_NeverLoveAnother _– That… will be very far off, I'm afraid. Harry is gonna go into the 'OHSHIT!denial' stage at the moment. Ohno And I have no clue if I can write shagging, to be honest. XD Maybe sometime in the future.

_Miss brownie _– well, Harry is horribly confused at the moment. But we all know he did. ;)

_Reigning Fyre_ – Will do! And about the offer – thank you, but I'm not sure if I really **need **a beta at the moment, 'cause I OCD-ly reread my stuff until I can't find any mistakes (A few still get through my fingers though… sigh… I find them like a month later…) unless you're pretty pro with history/current events and can check my stuff for me. :0

Ok, I realize I use the word "wanking" in this and I know it's supposed to be American – FORGIVE ME! But I can't use jacking off. Sorry… It just seems so weird next to wank, which I think is a perfectly normal word. (What… That makes no sense either.) But you won't see me using JO ever. So hold it against me for this non-US piece of vocab.

And this chapter has very little subplot… Mainly just Harry and Draco in this one. :P I don't think anyone will mind, though?

Also, I have _so_ many ideas for AU's. It makes me sad that I can't write them all!! I have a thing for AU's, really, I can't seem to think of anything good that works with the Hogwarts world.

_What would you guys prefer for my next multi-chapter story (after Alice Syndrome is complete); another Alternate Universe story or a Hogwarts/Post-War story?_

* * *

**Chapter 13**  
_Session 8: The Sweet Scent of Conspiracy_

"This is a lovely office."

Riddle's hands deftly stroked the wooden paneling on the oak door, dark eyes following the intricate engravings. Dumbledore attempted to smile but found his lips twisting into a crooked grimace.

"Please sit, Mr. Riddle, and I will fully explain what needs to be done." The Dean prompted to a seat in front of his mahogany desk. Tom followed suite, still looking around the office, obviously impressed.

Dumbledore laced his hands, propping his head on his elbows, giving the suited man a cool gaze. He couldn't throw off that perpetual feeling of doom that accompanied the meeting. But no matter, there was business to attend to – Tom Riddle would not take another 'Boy cries wolf' scenario too well.

"Now… I am concerned to see that you have not brought your laptop with you. Or will you be handling the files once you arrive home? I believe you do not live in Buffalo."

"I do not," confirmed Riddle with a curt nod, "My laptop is situated at the Fairmont on Pearl Street at the moment, I did not think I would be using it because our meeting would be short."

"Ah… I see. Please bring your laptop for our next meeting, Tom, I cannot transfer the files without a disk of sorts; I do not trust the network here."

"Done. Now, what do you need?"

"I require any records of Mattewan in the Government Legal and Transport systems erased between July 28th to August 22nd in 1999 erased. This time, completely. Can this be arranged?"

Riddle mused on it, a smirk curling on his lips. "Of course… but this is from quite a while back, Doctor… what has changed?"

"Someone has been prying… You must remember the last time I… almost summoned you here when a woman got quite close." Dumbledore's nose twitched at the mention.

"Ah… very intriguing indeed. Granger, was it not?"

"Yes. She was quite intelligent."

Tom smiled and leaned back on the antique chair, making it croak weakly. "And who is digging too deep this time?"

Their conversation was interrupted by a fumbling sound as the wooden door opened with an abrupt groan. Harry stumbled into the office, looking a little stunned at the occupants.

The doctor and Riddle locked eyes for a mere second before Harry's dropped to the floor in an embarrassed cede.

"Oh – oh, sorry, um, I didn't realize you had a guest – I forgot to phone Ms. McGonagall… um, I'll just wait outside?" Harry's eyes frantically searched for a place, finally deciding to follow a particularly long streak of black on the floor. He started to back out awkwardly, but was stopped when the Dean spoke again.

"It's alright, Doctor Potter – I'm assured it was an emergency that spurred you to come up. You may stay, Mr. Riddle and I were just talking about you." replied the Head Doctor, eyes sparkling with good humor, chuckling at the brunet's inconvenience. "I'd like to introduce you to Tom Riddle; he is a high profile defense attorney."

Riddle laughed softly and offered a hand to Harry, who was quickly thawing after the stun. "A lawyer, if you may. Pleased to meet you Doctor. I've read your biography."

"Harry – " corrected the psychiatrist with a small smile, "and you too, Mr. Riddle. I'm sorry for interrupting anything, I just got some important news for Doctor Dumbledore."

The lawyer smiled and stood up. "Of course – I'll be on my way now. I shall bring the laptop for our next meeting, Albus? Please call me to confirm dates and payment." He exited quickly with one last wry glance at the elder, leaving Harry and Dumbledore alone in the spacious office.

"Ah… Doctor," said Harry hastily, turning his back on Riddle, "Malfoy… confessed today, to killing his doctors. Um – I'm not sure if you already knew this… but the doctors were not on his reports, so I thought…"

Dumbledore looked considerably relieved – because Riddle had left? – but hummed and smiled. "Very good Doctor Potter… did he really confess? You've made quite a bit of progress, I see… The bodies have been found - but we have no link to Mr. Malfoy... he is a very discrete killer, I am afraid. He leaves no fingerprints or weapons - and it's innocent until proven guilty. I've suspected he's been killing our doctors for a while, but thank you for the confirmation; I'll be contacting the Police Department and Forensics immediately to edit his rap sheet. I'm sure you won't want to divulge how you got such information?"

Harry had the grace to look embarrassed. "Er – right…"

"I may be the umpteenth person to say so… but you should really write an autobiography. Numerous people including myself would be very interested in how you conduct your sessions."

"Uh – what?" The psychiatrist looked up, eyes widening slightly in realisation, "OH – right, that. I'll consider it. Um… I'll be leaving now. Thanks for seeing me."

The door closed quietly behind him as Harry left, leaving Dumbledore chuckling. The old man turned back to his computer.

_I don't think Doctor Potter was thinking what I was._

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Harry hated his room.

He knew he had told himself that he'd spruce it up or something… but it was still drab. Everything was so white, so sterile. Even his haphazardly placed relics didn't improve his surroundings much.

The doctor laced his fingers behind his head, lying on his bed – it was barely two… He'd go get some coffee later, maybe make some friends?

Well, if he was going to be here for a while… why couldn't he redecorate a little? And if he left – then it'd be Mattewan's problem to strip his decorations, not his.

He doubted Dumbledore would care, and it looked like he was going to be stuck here… If Malfoy permitted it, that is. He wasn't particularly scared of Malfoy at the moment – which was uh, strange, to say the least – but Harry was more introspective about his situation than anything. Hadn't it hit him yet – that Malfoy killed his doctors? The ones that resigned were the lucky ones, probably.

It either wasn't sinking in or he… just didn't care.

Harry groaned and threw the nearest thing he could reach on the bed towards the wall. The item happened to be one of his novels – it collapsed into a battered heap on the other side of the room.

_Shit!_

He didn't care that he might find his body in a garbage dumpster, joining those other decaying corpses of former attempts? No, apparently, because his brain was fried! What other reason could there be? Malfoy's apathy towards human life was infectious, it seemed… maybe he transferred it through lips. It would seem appropriate, wouldn't it…

His lips…

_No – NO, fuck. No looping stuff up there, thank you. Especially not _that.

_Okay… right. Malfoy equals murderer… Just imagine him covered in blood with a crazy look in his eyes._

Back on track. The blond killed doctors that annoyed him, but Harry had probably done enough to irk him as much as any of the other doctors… what was stopping his body from being buried somewhere beneath the Institute?

_I__t's because he likes you._

That made sense. Not that he wanted _that_ to be the reason he was still alive, as it only meant one thing: he was disposable. The moment he gave Malfoy what he wanted – say, had sex with (not that he would ever) or confessed affection for (he wouldn't) – Harry would be dead.

Death wasn't something that appealed to him, sadly.

So what to do? He couldn't be caught in Malfoy's trap… but the blond would eventually get bored of him, right? And bored was synonymous with death anyways. There really didn't seem a way to avoid getting killed. Harry either 'cured' Malfoy, quit before the psychopath got to him (which wasn't an option as far as he was concerned!)… or um, get killed.

Left very little room for failure, just the way he liked it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Remus muttered something while punching in the numbers on his cell phone. Sirius was getting on his nerves – which wasn't a surprise – but it was the fact that he was pretty sure his former classmate wasn't actually intent on getting a job that was irking him… freeloading was a talent of his. Sirius had decided to move off the couch where he had been into _his_ bedroom. Even his fervent yells of '_GET OUT_' had not deterred Padfoot from sleeping on the cot in the corner – he had said no good friend would dump another good friend out on the sofa and decided the small makeshift bed was more comfortable.

Remus also had a vicious headache to boot. How perfect was that?

The tone clicked and a monotone voice filtered through the long-distance airwaves.

"Lupin? You know better than to call me on weekdays; particularly on the days I have lectures."

"Severus," replied the professor warmly, "I'm sure I'll take more caution later – you could always forward me your schedule. Anyways… I'm calling about a student that recently was attending your apprenticeship – "

" – Is it that Tonks girl?"

Remus scowled – when was a 29 year old a girl? – but replied calmly, "Well, hm, yes it is about her. Did she seem kind of odd during the program?"

"Having a problem, Lupin?"

"Well, I'm trying to locate the time she started to have troubles… I'm a concerned teacher, you know."

"Concerned indeed… I'm not one to pay specific attention – I have over twenty students in that program. She seemed a little preoccupied however, when I spoke to her on occasion." Snape sounded uncomfortable admitting such, which made Remus chuckle lightly.

"Is that right? Was there a day specifically?"

"Perhaps," snapped Severus stiffly, "I believe I started to notice towards the end of the apprenticeship, if that's any inclination. Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"

"Not at the moment, thank you."

The line went dead. The professor pocketed his phone and flopped ungracefully onto the couch.

Tonks was angry… she was skipping classes. He hadn't seen her today and the absence wasn't excused. He wasn't sure what to do with the whole situation since it just seemed like a time-bomb.

Speaking of time-bombs… Black was out 'looking for a job' which directly translated to getting drunk in Pads' language. Well, he'd confirm it anyways when Sirius came back – he wouldn't wait to get sober before returning to the apartment.

What time was it? Ah… eight. He'd have a nap, then – it took a lot of energy to scream at a drunk man _and _get your point through at the same time.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Harry woke up feeling a little dizzy. His first thought was to look at the clock, but it seemed to have disappeared off his night stand – his foot had dislodged it. Not that he could see it however, because his head was hanging limply off the side of the queen sized mattress. Well, that explained the dizziness. Second thought…

Did he have a hard-on?

The doctor tried to sit up so he could see what position he was lying in but he hissed as soon as his boxers beneath pyjamas made contact with his tenting erection.

Yep, definitely a hard-on.

Harry heaved himself up, turning his body until his back rested against the headboard. How long had it been since his last morning boner? Must have been a few weeks at most… It wasn't that Harry didn't get boners and didn't indulge in wanking or anything abnormal like that – it's just been a while since he's had an... interesting dream.

_A little slow this morning, aren't we?_

Harry scowled and ripped his covers off, stalking towards the bathroom with a sort of 'I-have-to-do-this' attitude, waddling like a penguin. His morning was instantly ruined – not by his erection but by the bursting bubble of having a _sex dream_…

The doctor's heart plummeted – he was almost afraid to say it.

It was Malfoy. It was _always_ that bastard because unfortunately, Harry's life grinded to a halt until he could notably change the man. Get him to repent. Show change. Whatever. He wasn't _able_ to think of anything or anyone else.

But having a questionable fantasy about Malfoy… that was overstepping his boundaries a little. And frankly, it was not a comforting idea that he wanted anything to do with the man, sexual or otherwise.

Well – he couldn't _remember _dreaming about the blond… Harry only presumed he did because he had thought of his client before falling asleep. Maybe he hadn't? After all, some people just have wet dreams about nothing, right? Like doing homework, chores and walking the dog…

_But people who get dreams over those are pubescent boys. You are not one of them._

Waving the voice off, he stepped into the shower and adjusted the knob to a convenient temperature. The shower wall was too damn cold but he had to suck it up and deal with it, because leaning on something and wanking was so much easier to do… Harry's fingers languidly stroked his member, eyes closed while sparks lit the insides of his eyelids.

And before he could stop himself, a voice and a face presented itself in his head.

"_Self-exploration, Harry_."

The doctor's eyes flew open, emerald irises flickering wildly around the shower.

_Fuck. Oh, double fuck._

After a quick, unsatisfactory climax, Harry stepped out of shower and started to dry himself off. He licked his lips in a nervous gesture, trying to keep his brain preoccupied with _anything _else. He was genuinely _embarrassed_ too, as heat wasn't the only element that made his cheeks flush a blotchy pink.

Malfoy was going to drive him _insane_! Fuck!

How and why? Because it – he – was lodged in his brain, doomed to stay there for a probable fraction of his life. And Harry really, _really_ didn't want him there, because the only thing worse than having a wet dream about your psychopath of a client was imagining him in a shower when you had a hard-on.

. He inspected himself closely, stretching out his eye sockets, looking through strands of hair, analysing his lips. 

Was he gay?

The question surfaced up as quickly as his godfather could chug a bottle. He didn't want to think about it, but it seemed now was the time – Harry could no longer tell himself that he only liked girls. Really, he hadn't liked a girl in years. And there was the matter of Draco Malfoy… all-in-all, it seemed like a rather cut-and-dry deal.

It was just a little hard to accept. His parents had been so normal, as well as all his friends and relatives. He didn't have a 'bad relationship' with his father, they had been so close – it wasn't like he lacked male affection in his life.

New York wasn't particularly tolerant either – hell, _America_ wasn't particularly tolerant… He'd have to go all the way down to fucking California to get married if he ever decided to…

"I need to get dressed…" he muttered darkly and promptly started to search through his clothes.

Okay, maybe he was pansexual? He looked at gender secondly… 'cause what, personality came first? That may be, but it certainly didn't apply to Malfoy. The doctor _abhorred_ his attitude and personality but … looks? The blond was no doubt attractive.

_Wow_, mused Harry as he pulled on a slightly baggy t-shirt, _I'm shallow as a dish. Fucking _fantastic.

Besides, how would the world react? Harry James Potter, renowned psychiatrist and miracle worker was gay!

Harry looked at his watch briefly before deciding how to spend his morning. It was 10… he could grab breakfast before having a session with Malfoy. He was seriously considering skipping the meeting but knew the psychopath would notice something, and would probably proceed to heckle him about it for ages.

The doctor sighed and grabbed his phone, keys and wallet before leaving his room. Maybe he'd feel better after a nice dark roast coffee…

Descending into the main foyer of the hospital, Harry blinked as he spotted a man (patient? He wore the robes of Mattewan) wrestling with the same old nurse that had questioned him on his client. Guards were quickly approaching the two, and all doors and windows seemed to have been shut down.

The patient was a flaming ginger haired man with dotty freckles and he was fervently swatting again the nurse – Figg, was it? Harry grinned and stalled to watch the chaos unfurl. He had to wait until the lockdown was over, anyways.

"I am not bloody _insane_ – what are you doing you doing you hag? I'll hex you into the next century – I'm good at wandless magic you know! Well okay, not really but - OY!" He was interrupted as one of the guards seized him, another taking the woman's hands off him.

"Mr. Weasley, please just return to your room!" said Nurse Figg frantically, looking very nervous, "we're not saying you _are_ insane but please…"

Harry froze.

Did he just hear right? Weasley?

As in… Ginny family surname Weasley?

The man blinked and moved forward and tapped the flustered nurse on the shoulder.

"Pardon me, Nurse, but did you just say… Weasley?"

She peered at him as if he was an alien, blinking two large eyes slowly. "Yes, his name is Ronald Weasley. Are you visiting him? Mr. Weasley has a rather volatile temper, as you can see…"

The ginger haired man glared and spat, "Yeah only because you damn muggles insist on keeping me here…"

Harry retracted his hand. "Oh… um, no. But thank you. I'll be going now… Thank you."

Figg waved him off distractedly and continued to direct the guards down the corridor. Ron seemed to have stopped struggling… Harry spun around and walked out of the hospital, a little dazed. He'd ask Ginny later – oh, when she had stopped being angry at him. Or maybe he'd ask Ronald?

As he unlocked his SUV, the doctor decided he would need a really, _really_ strong coffee.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**8th Session  
May 18th  
Mattewan Psychiatric Institute  
Client: Draco Malfoy  
Diagnosed with: Psychopathy**

After a rather refreshing conversation with a tall woman named Olympe at a quaint French cafe that she owned, Harry had returned to Mattewan feeling a little more optimistic than before. Ronald Weasley still buzzed around his mind a little – it wasn't just his last name that concerned the doctor, but also his _looks_. He was a Weasley through and through. It had to be bigger than mere coincidence.

Harry was also truly glad that his mind had been elated from the topic of Malfoy and his looks and the _event_ this morning and all those things he didn't want to think about – even just for an hour or two. Those needling little thoughts returned quickly though, as he returned to the Mattewan gates and was ushered in sharply by McGongall.

He returned to his room to quickly pick up a newspaper that he had ordered to start coming in daily before going to Malfoy's ward. As he neared the keypad, Harry considered skipping again. He didn't have to see Malfoy every day – Dumbledore had not made it a requirement. He could go back to his room and sleep or go out and explore Western New York. He wasn't even hindered by obligation – the doctor felt nothing short of it for this case.

When he finally reached the pad and the set of doors – they were open. Broad as day.

The doctor blinked twice, as if stuck in a looping slow motion film before alarm bells started to scream in his mind.

Malfoy escaped! How the hell he did it, he had no clue, but he _had_! He escaped!!!

The man recited every swear he could in his mental tirade, trying not to panic. Okay, just call the guards and have them search the grounds… he couldn't be far, right? They'd find him definitely, this wasn't –

"Potter, would you mind stepping aside?"

Harry spun around so quickly he actually made the blond step back.

"Malfoy! How – they – you got out! What are you doing?"

"I went to take a piss," replied Draco apathetically, "I hate it when Pansy accompanies me. Fucking awkward."

"Y-you can just leave whenever you want to?"

The psychopath shot him a half amused, half condescending look. Explaining this wasn't something he particularly wanted to do at the moment, but he had just elicited another stutter from Potter. How cute.

"When someone escapes, the security levels are risen, and they basically deactivate everything and it acts like a lockdown. It's just a matter of inserting a piece of metal into the doors so they don't close fully, then you can just wrench it open." He scowled and took a breath. "I think I may have chipped a nail or something, though. Not sure if it's worth the piss."

Harry's eyed widened almost comically, mind growing with a jumble of questions. "Wait, the metal? And why don't you do this and escape – wait, shouldn't you be able to open a door any time, then?"

The man sighed and stepped into the cell, successfully shoving Harry inside as well. "The chair. I still have the bolt before they replaced it. Two, I have no interest of escaping Mattewan, I believe I have told you already. And thirdly, no, when the hydraulic doors function normally, they stay in place permanently until you open them again. In a lockdown, all systems including running water are shut off so it's a manner of pulling two hundred pounds of fucking steel to open it."

"You planned this?"

"No, it was convenient. I had a full bladder."

With that, the convict crossed the small room and climbed onto the palate, folding his legs. "Are we good, Doctor?"

"Um – " started Harry awkwardly, " - yes. Thank you for explaining, Malfoy."

The brunet took a seat in the new chair (and it didn't feel strange this time), head still reeling from his client's newest trick. He threw the curled newspaper at the blond, who caught it with a look of surprise.

"You actually got me a paper?" he asked, looking a little dumbfounded, "how considerate of you to slaughter it in the process though, Potter."

Harry frowned. "You're welcome."

Draco grinned and blew him a kiss. "Thank you, Doctor Potter."

The frown deepened and Harry told himself vehemently to ignore the psychopath. "I'll be bringing you one every day now – I've got a subscription to the Buffalo News. Just don't do anything stupid or nasty with them and I'll keep giving them to you. You can give me old papers for me to recycle unless you want to keep them for whatever reason. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." Said the psychopath shortly, placing the paper aside. "I'll read after you leave. Something to amuse me."

"Okay. So today, I thought we'd start out by discussing your attraction to here. What is it that makes you want to stay here? I mean, there are better clinics that are more comfortable to protect you from the stupidity of the world."

The blond shrugged and abandoned his post, moving nearer to Harry. "I don't want to move. I'm comfortable here, even though it's small and dirty and unkempt, which is no doubt what you see."

"Perhaps you're scared of change?"

"Perhaps." Said the convict with an air of indifference, "or maybe it's just an indication of my sloth. You never know." He was now kneeling, fingers clutching the arm of the chair. Harry swallowed and scowled, trying to not take note of it.

"Well, that's something we'll have to find out, hmm?" said Harry, a little surprised by how unfazed his voice sounded. He was building up a resistance to him. Finally!

"Indeed," whispered the blond, lips pulled into a smile.

Harry's body jerked slightly, the back of the rotating chair sliding back under the pressure.

_Self-exploration…_

Oh my god… Now was _not_ the time to be looping shit!

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" He peered down at the blond, making eye contact with his client. "Grovelling?"

"I'm getting used to the angle," replied Draco with a snicker, "it's an interesting view from down here."

Harry gritted his teeth and swatted the psychopath away. "Get up! Stop spouting sexual innuendos, god, I am _not_ interested!"

Draco did not do as he was told and instead, opted to sit on the floor peering up at the doctor.

"You didn't seem to think so yesterday."

"Yesterday was a fluke. I think I was high. Or drunk. Or witless. Either one will work. Don't mention it again because I won't be doing it again. It was highly unorthodox of me as a doctor."

"You enjoyed it though. It might have been more."

Harry sighed but decided to push on. Professionalism didn't seem to work very well.

"Malfoy! Off this topic."

"Whatever you want, doctor."

Harry leaned back on his chair and crossed his legs, determined to get a real session going.

"Does Mattewan remind you a little of home, perhaps? It's got a rather rustic décor…"

"Décor does not the home make," replied Draco wistfully, tilting his head, "but I imagine my mansion in Wiltshire looks a great deal nicer than Mattewan… so no, Potter, no resemblance there."

"Alright. What do you like about this Institute?"

The blond rolled his eyes. "You know when you move to a new city and your house is neither as convenient or as large as your old one?"

"Yes."

"After living in said city and house for eight years, let's say you get pretty damn comfortable."

"Ahh… so just a case of availability then? Still, the original overhaul would be worth it. You'd be happier in a new clinic – Mattewan is old and damp and I don't think the actual structure has been tampered with in over a few decades."

"Then I will go down with my ship," said Draco with a rueful smile. "It's my decision if I want to move Potter, and frankly… I don't."

The doctor shrugged. "It's just a recommendation. Nothing serious. Now another serious question: can a piano fit in here?"

"A grand or a upright?"

"Uh… the ones that go next to the wall."

"It should. The room's not _that_ small. Are you really considering pulling up a piano for me Potter?"

"I'm not sure if I can, but if I'm able to – why not? You'll owe me though, if I make it happen."

Draco scowled – he didn't like debts. "Maybe a piano isn't worth being obliged to you."

Harry chuckled and folded his arms. "I'll let you decide. Anyways. Can we talk about your family? Not so much the members… but more the values?"

"Go ahead. You should be able to find most of it in history books, though. Malfoy's go back a ways, as do Black's."

"What did you value, as a Malfoy? Your parents probably taught you a few things."

The blond smiled eerily, his brain setting in to recite the few lines his father had spoken to him in earnest.

"Money is the root of all power, and power is the most precious thing. Having wealth and the power are the most attainable yet unattainable things in life."

The brunet frowned at the robotic sound of it, as if it had been drilled into the pale man's head many times. It probably had. "That's… good? At least he taught you a little about the real world. That statement is a little over zealous though, if you ask me."

"And yet completely true," drawled Draco. What would a doctor know about power in the old families? Nothing. Potter was an all American child that never bothered to learn more intricate lessons than tying his own shoes.

"It's got truth in it," said Harry, utterly unconvinced. "But completely? I'm not so sure. But let's just agree to disagree."

"That's not how true debaters work," said the psychopath with a sneer, "you have to fight for your side, Potter. There are no truces in a war of words."

"Oh, yes there is." Harry's tone was curt, "I don't want to bicker pointlessly with you, Draco, it doesn't serve me any good and it doesn't serve you any good."

"I take it you weren't any good at debate, then?" The blond chuckled. "That certainly goes against your stereotype."

Harry closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. "I was alright at debating. It wasn't my forte, though. Back on topic… we seem to stray a bit, don't we? Was that the value of just your family or did everyone have the same perspective?"

"I was surrounded by it… I attended a private academy that was six figures in pounds. You think money wasn't important there? Everyone had an ego the size of this room."

Harry felt his brow raise. "Including you, I'm guessing."

"Of course."

The doctor stifled a smile and straightened in the chair, feeling an itch creep up on his back. "Good to see your confidence is founded, Malfoy."

As they proceeded to talk about Malfoy's various classmates and touchy teachers, Harry felt rather optimistic. The session was going well – for once, Harry wasn't doing all the talking. Instead, the blond was ranting angrily on how that stupid blond oaf had given him an 'unsatisfactory' on a Social Sciences paper for no apparent reason.

"Even _Flint_ got at least an acceptable and his brain is smaller than my fucking pinkie! I read his essay and he rewrote the first paragraph of his essay five times to fill the requirements. And he passed. I swear, it was because I was better looking than that bloody _Lockhart_ bigot… All my exams were at least AS-level. Especially social sciences!"

Harry snickered but coughed behind his hand to mask it. The doctor wasn't talking… at all, actually. Malfoy was chattering more than he had ever, probably in _all_ the previous sessions put together.

"Lockhart? It sounds oddly familiar… Uh – is he an author?"

Draco scowled and muttered darkly, "He's written like five books on history but can't remember when the damn second world war started."

The doctor scratched his head in thought. "Ah, now I remember. He has interesting books… mentions himself a lot in them. I haven't seen anything new from him recently, though. Gins was a big fan – I don't really like him as an writer."

Malfoy scratched his chin. "That's strange. He always seemed like a rather large glory hog, I would have imagined he would have churned out at least twenty more books by now. Hmm…" The blond paused to think for a few moments, grimacing. "And all the females adore him, even though he knows nothing and his teeth are too bloody big… "

Further griping ensued – it seemed Draco had large problems with a majority of elements of his school. This included other students, some of the teachers, classroom arrangements and how inconvenient it was to go to a Chemistry class from the sixth floor to a Latin class on the first.

Harry let him prattle on. The blond was obviously in a good mood and even though Harry was only listening to perhaps a quarter of the conversation, Malfoy had either not noticed or didn't care.

"- and my father _insisted _that Riddle stay but that man is so fucking creepy and I told him so but my mother got all prissy with me – "

The doctor blinked and shook his head. "W-what? Sorry – Riddle?"

Strange sense of déjàvu coming on – didn't this happen this morning?

"Riddle." Parroted the blond, "what about him?"

"You – you knew Riddle?"

"Not really? My father knew him better, I think. A little pathetic really, worshipped the man even though he was younger than him… Ugh."

Harry blinked in dismay. What was this? God, how did everyone know everyone else? This gave meaning to 'small world'…

"How so? Why worship?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Riddle was known for doing 'whatever needed to be done' to win a case. Sleeping with witnesses and the prosecutor, hacking and deleting important crucial files, tampering with evidence… that sort of stuff. No one ever found any more than shreds of evidence against him so he got away with it. My father thought that was the way to handle cases and revered Riddle as if he was some sort of sociopath-overlord."

Harry's jaw dropped slightly. Did Dumbledore not know about this? Surely he had to… Then what was a dangerous lawyer doing here? Mattewan, of all places?

"Close your mouth, Potter before I close it for you. You look like a deer caught in headlights."

The man flushed and clamped his lips. For once, Malfoy's mannerisms wasn't the thing that concerned him.

What was going on? Harry fuzzily remembered something about a payment in that office this morning. Argh… he'd think about this later. Most likely, it was something stupid and not relevant. The doctor hadn't heard of Riddle before and it had been eight years since Malfoy had last seen him… He was just being paranoid again. It seemed to be happening a lot lately.

"What did I say about the come-ons?"

"An open mouth should be closed, Doctor, it's bad etiquette otherwise." Draco gave the doctor a saccharine-filled smile that was betrayed by the hungry look in his silver irises. It made the dark-haired man rather uncomfortable, and Harry adjusted his glasses in a nervous way.

Harry coughed and uncrossed his legs, suddenly deciding the productivity of the session had dried up.

"Thank you for co-operating today, Malfoy, I appreciate it. Let's hope you'll keep this up for tomorrow?"

"I was co-operating?" asked the convict with a hint of confusion - and then realisation. "I talked for a bit. That's not co-operating. And don't get your hopes up - today you were just lucky."

He thought quickly - he had to piss off Potter at least _once_ during sessions. Otherwise, Draco might actually be losing his touch. It was true, he had been rather... normal today. But if Potter got the idea that he was finally taming him, the doctor had another thing coming.

Harry threw him a watery glower. Oh, perfect. He stood up to leave but was stopped as Malfoy seized a handful of the doctor's t-shirt and pulled him closer.

"Think of _me_ tonight, Harry."

The brunet paled and then turned pink, ripping Draco's hands from his garment.

"I am _Doctor Potter_ to you, Malfoy. And I will not be doing anything of the sort." Harry managed to enforce his point with a small, pointed glare. "We are strictly Doctor Patient."

The blond withdrew, crawling back onto his palate with a sneer that said '_I don't believe you_'.

And frankly, Harry didn't either.


	14. Session 9: You Have Stolen

My HP:OoTP spiel is at the end, so my giant fangirl rambling doesn't stop you from enjoying the story. :P

This chapter in itself is a little … strange. Think of it as a metamorphosis. This is a necessary chapter, even if you guys don't think so.

_Gbheart_ – Really? Awesome. Draco doesn't have a full-on British Accent though, since he's been in America for a long time but since he's been in a cell for those years his dialect may only have changed under the influence of the American doctors he's had… :)

_Blue_ – Yep, just read this chapter. I've got the Hermione seminar all set up!

_Destny_ – 'Action'? XD As in punch-kicking action or Draco-and-Harry-getting-it-on action? Hopefully both will come… in due time, my friend, in due time.

_Meyshi_ – I value plot over porns, sorry!

* * *

** Chapter 14**  
_Session 9: You Have Stolen_

"Mr. Hagrid?"

The bearded man turned around quickly to Harry's voice, spraying crumbs from a rather hard looking pastry onto his uniform.

"Uh – yea? Who're you? Sorry fer all this – I'm just havin' a coffee break."

Harry nodded as the security guard stood up to dust off some bits off his shirt and picked up a mug, downing some coffee as well.

"Um, I'm Doctor Potter… I know it's early… but uh, it's come to my attention that the chairs you use now can be dismantled by some patients without tools… at least, I know of one who has done so. I'd suggest investing in plastic chairs if I were you."

Hagrid blinked. "This is news t'me. Who did it?"

The doctor turned pink but refused to look abashed. "Draco Malfoy, sir. He took apart mine."

The guard scratched his beard thoughtfully, mug and snack forgotten. "Hmm… That's a good idea, though I don't think any of th'other patients are gonna need a new chair, t'be honest Doctor… we'll replace the one in Malfoy's room soon, though."

Harry nodded again and began to move towards the door before an alarm whined over the speakers, making the dark-haired man plug his ears and wince at the sound.

Hagrid sighed and removed the two-way from his belt. "Patient 682 has 'scaped again, he's going down the long term ward."

"Copy that, sir."

The man exhaled, looking rather pained.

"Was that Ron?" asked Harry hesitantly.

Hagrid had returned to his break. "Yeah, he's a real pain… we don't know how he keeps getting' out, but he does, almost every day. It's jus annoyin' now."

Harry smiled – he didn't intend to do so, watching the screens behind the security guard as Ronald Weasley was forcibly dragged back to his room. "Well – um, I'll be going now, Mr. Hagrid."

"Jus' Hagrid for ya," replied the guard with a good-natured wink, making Harry's smile widen. The doctor waved as he left the office; he couldn't help but feel a little jauntier at the mirth in Hagrid's voice.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

As Harry returned to his room, his SLVR started to churn out a MIDI of Chopin's Etude in C Minor. Swearing, he pulled it out and looked at the caller ID in confusion before answering.

Lupin? He didn't usually call, and when he did, he e-mailed in advanced, just in case Harry was busy.

"Professor?"

"Harry?" He sounded genuinely relieved, and his voice was slurred in fatigue. "Could you do a favour for me?"

A favour?

"Um, sure."

"Could you talk to your godfather for me? He refuses to leave my apartment…"

The doctor's brows rose comically. "What's he doing at your place?"

There was a sigh on the other line and Harry could envision his professor kneading his brow. "In a moment of blind foolishness, I told Sirius he could stay at my apartment until he found a job. Now Harry, we both know that's not going to happen any time soon. If you could, please convince him to at least try to find one? Or I'll boot him off, either way."

Harry marvelled at how his professor managed to sound amused, even in such an apparently strained situation.

"Frankly, I don't think I could do anything professor… I'd just shout at him."

A shuffle of hands made the phone crackle for a second, and a loud booming voice came over the speakers.

"Harry?"

The doctor promptly rubbed his right ear, hearing a faint ringing in it.

"Why are you crashing at Lupin's place? Did you spend the five hundred on booze – "

" – no, because you never sent me the money. Too busy with your job and clients?"

_What did _that_ mean?_ "Are you _angry_ with _me_ because I didn't send you the – "

"Well, Harry, it's not my fault – "

The doctor felt the blood rush to his head. Where was this moronic logic coming from? "Not _your_ fault? It's not your fault that you're homeless and jobless and have to mooch off – "

A light swear was all he heard before the phone clicked and Sirius hung up. Harry fought the urge to hurtle the expensive phone at the wall, but knowing he didn't want to get a new plan or pay for damages, opted to place it carefully on the drawer next to a raised picture. He crawled back into bed, fuming. Why did Sirius become like this? Before his father's death, Sirius had been vibrant, lively man and although he drank, probably only drank a fraction of what he did now. He laughed too, always… and it was genuine.

Harry buried into the pillow and groaned. He could be doing some productive, like trying to contact Ginny or researching on Malfoy. But no, he was sitting on his uncomfortable queen sized mattress, feeling unbearably nostalgic.

He'd give _anything_ to have things go back to the way they were… but that was a dream, and he was just a child for wanting it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Clink._

Draco was throwing the small black bolt at the wall viciously, making it bounce back within reach.

_Clink._

Where the hell was Potter? He always came around noon. Draco needed a new paper – he had read the previous one inside and out, captions and all. Even the cartoons, though they proved to not be as amusing as their name suggested. He found, with dismay, that he did not really understand a few of articles, like the iPod that inflicted injuries when being listened to during a storm, or the campaign against Bush for the war in Iraq… he had simply missed too much for things to be clear.

_Clink._

Why was he anticipating his arrival anyways? It was just Potter. Sure, he was good looking and all but… this was ridiculous. He was like a lapdog waiting for its owner.

Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes at such domestication.

Even though he looked forward to their sessions, he couldn't help but feel that Potter had finally dug in. Started to pry. A few comments had made Draco nervous about how much the doctor knew – about how much the doctor _could_ know. And Draco had told him things. He gave him the opportunity to learn things about him. Potter was successfully taking parts of him that he had locked down in place and refused to give up. No, sometimes he even _offered_ those pieces to Potter.

The blond chewed his lip, feeling the weathered texture of the piece of scrap metal before hurtling it back.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

_Clink._

Potter was taking more of him than he was taking of Potter. That wasn't supposed to happen either – it was _supposed_ to be the other way around. He was the master thief – _he_ stole doctor's hearts… their sanity… their breath. Unless they were smart enough to get out of the situation, which was sometimes true. And even then, Draco knew he lingered with them.

He wasn't doing so to Potter... but if the doctor ever got the idea that he was _taming_ Draco… he had another thing coming.

_Clink._

Fuck! He had played nice, he'd talked, he had given up secrets. And yet, he still didn't have Potter in bed or anything remotely close. Draco had taken nothing, except maybe a kiss and a string.

_Clink._

Why was he exerting so much energy to court him? It wasn't worth it. Potter was a doctor. Potter meant nothing. Absolutely nothing! He was only doing this for a shag. He could kill the doctor off if needed, and get a new one that served his purposes better. He could do it…

The small bolt tinkled to the floor, slipping out of Draco's fingers. He didn't bother to pick it up.

He could kill Potter, right? He was just another doctor – albeit an attractive one, but a pawn, nevertheless. Just a playing piece.

The blond's long fingers crept towards the scrap metal and curled around it.

_Just a playing piece._

If only he could believe it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dumbledore was pacing his office, a look of concern crossing his features. His azure eyes kept glancing to the small black phone on his desk. The payment… Riddle would need a payment. And it would be hefty, by the looks of it.

Neither he or the Institute were poor, government grants and his own purse made that sure… but his bank was not bottomless. No doubt Riddle would ask for a rather steep amount of money. The Dean sighed and returned to his desk, dialling the numbers slowly.

"Albus?"

"Tom," he greeted quietly, brows furrowed, "I've called to ask about the payment."

"Ahh, yes." Replied the satisfied hiss from the other end, "I'm thinking a nice round price of twenty-five million?"

"Twenty five? Tom, that's an absurd price… and you know it."

There was a pause over the line before the lawyer replied smugly, "And I also know you have no say in the matter."

Dumbledore sighed and swallowed, forcing himself to be calm. "We need to arrange a second meeting before I agree to any payment at all. Would tomorrow at three be convenient?"

Tom chuckled. The smell of fear was something he could relish. "That sounds fine, Albus. I'll be seeing you tomorrow, then?"

"Very well."

The old man put the receiver down before leaning back on his leather chair and closing his eyes. Twenty five million was the budget of Mattewan for perhaps… two years. He scowled, wondering how the lawyer learned how to manipulate the way he did.

But millions… was worth the information that needed to be erased. No one must know what occurred during those few days – what he _allowed_ to happen.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**9th Session  
May 19th  
Mattewan Psychiatric Institute  
Client: Draco Malfoy  
Diagnosed with: Psychopathy**

As Harry descended the stairs with another newspaper, he found himself passing a small bulletin board in the long hallway connecting the dormitories to the wards. His eyes skimmed through the ads, not finding one particularly interesting until he spotted a small poster in the corner.

'_DR. GRANGER on the concept of NEUROPSYCHOLOGY'_

He blinked slowly. Granger? Didn't Malfoy mention Granger sometime? He took a closer look at the poster – there may be another Granger in the field, it wasn't like it was an uncommon last name – and bumped into a blond nurse who grunted at him, obviously not recognizing Harry as a doctor without the long white robe.

Removing the tacks, Harry tore the small piece of paper and read it over. It was a seminar… 5:30 to 7 on the 21st, at the University of Buffalo, Hochsetter Hall… hmm. He could make that. It'd give him something to do and if Granger was ever Malfoy's doctor – maybe he could take her aside and ask her a few questions. He found the blond's former acquaintances were usually very helpful, information wise.

He wondered why he had never heard of this woman, especially if she were doing lectures in the same state. Wouldn't he have heard about her through the grape vine or something? Doctors never lay low.

Without a thought, he folded and tucked the poster into his jeans pocket. Maybe he should ask Professor about her… but maybe once he got Sirius off his back.

Punching the six digit code in the keypad (he had memorized it by now, how wonderful), Harry wondered about what Malfoy had said… about his family, going back generations. It'd be interesting if he could find a family tree of a record of them. It shouldn't be too difficult to locate either, if Harry knew where to look.

"POTTER!"

This higher, shriller than usual voice awoke Harry from his musings. He blinked and stepped into the cell, only to see Draco Malfoy pointing at an object in the middle of the room, looking livid.

"What is THAT? It's ugly and neon and if you had _anything_ to do with it, I will _kill_ you Potter! I will fucking cut off your head and eat it! Don't think I'm joking!"

The object of Draco's distress – to his surprise – was a bright orange plastic chair.

Harry snorted – it looked like Hagrid had taken his advice.

"It's a chair." Replied the doctor practically, trying not to giggle like a school girl. "Not a very good one, but a chair never the less. So you can't dismantle this one and use its bits to deactivate doors." Taking the distraction, he threw the newspaper at Malfoy.

The blond caught it before looking at him in disbelief. "You _ratted_ me out Potter? How very fifth grader of you. And I won't need to stop any doors, it'll be perfect when I shove that chair up your – "

" – I don't think it could fit it up there," said Harry with a smile and proceeded to seat himself. He fidgeted for a bare minute – Malfoy watched with amusement – before sighing and leaning on the bright orange armrest.

"This thing is uncomfortable," he muttered, finding the seat curved strangely.

"And an eyesore," agreed Draco with dispassion, glaring at the piece of plastic as if it could combust under his gaze. He placed the newspaper aside, as he always did. No thanks today though, Potter didn't deserve it. Not after inviting that piece of shit into the room.

Harry managed to heave a dramatic sigh, "Well I'm sorry, I wasn't able to pick colours. You're going to have live with it, though. It's staying."

He could have sworn the pale man's irises turned into slits at that very moment.

"No, it bloody isn't! It's fucking going! I have cacophobia, if you'd like to know."

"Really?" Harry's brow rose to accompany his sceptical tone. Fear of ugliness seemed strangely appropriate but totally not possible at the same time. "Either way, it's staying. If it goes, I'll go."

Draco turned his grey eyes on the doctor and smirked, "Really? Is that the best threat you could come up with?"

"Not a threat, just a promise," said the doctor and attempted to fold his arms in the chair, but found it difficult to do so. "And I think you would have been repulsed by former doctors if you had such a phobia, considering you kept telling me they were not the best looking of the bunch."

The psychopath sneered. He knew Potter hadn't taken him seriously. "It's fitting, though, isn't it?"

Harry nodded in agreement. "It is… Theoretically, if you _did_ have cacophobia I could bring an ugly person in and have your phobia take care of what I need to know…"

His client shrugged and gave Harry a lazy, satisfied look from his position on the palate. "True, that wouldn't work – the perfect don't have faults."

"Oh, you're perfect now? Well, I think people have something to say about that."

"What, they agree?" Draco grinned teasingly, instinctively ducking even though Harry had nothing to throw. "Come on Potter, even you'd agree I have very nice assets."

Harry frowned, trying not to colour. "That may be but assets do not make perfection. Your attitude could use some work, for one."

"Some would say yours needs a tune up as well, doctor," replied the convict, leering, "but it's all in the eye of beholder, isn't it?"

The doctor pursed his lips in annoyance. "_I_ have an attitude problem? If I have a problem Malfoy, you have an apocalypse on your hands." What was wrong with his manners? He thought he was pretty nice most of the time and he wasn't confrontational or aggressive, and perfectly polite.

"Why do Ineed an attitude adjustment? I'm amiable and I don't dabble in sarcasm like you do."

"It doesn't matter, Doctor Potter. Is this really the topic you wanted to pursue today?"

No, it wasn't. Harry sighed. They had gone fantastically astray again – he feared how much of their sessions were lost to idle chatter. He had _meant_ to talk about Doctor Granger, to see what he could talk about to the woman when he met her on Friday and what not to mention…

"So, Malfoy, you had a doctor called Granger, correct?"

The blond glared at him suspiciously – he didn't like the direction this was going. Past figures were always problems, no matter what. Potter had something up his sleeve.

"Yes, I did. What about her?"

"Did you threaten to kill her before she resigned? Is that the reason she did so?"

Draco worried the hem of his habit, pondering on whether to answer or not. He didn't like Potter's tone, which had gotten all professional and hard and he was paranoid of how the doctor would use the information. After all, there would be no more offering of pieces from now on.

Harry started to tap his fingers absently on the arm rest, patiently waiting for an answer.

"Yes, I threatened her. I don't know if she left because of that or because I kept distracting her from her fiancé. She's got powerful people behind her too."

Harry frowned minutely for a reason he couldn't identify, but felt rather unsatisfied all of a sudden. "Powerful people?"

"Didn't you know? She's engaged to that Bulgarian athlete, Viktor Krum. He's got a scary gang of sorts behind him… I wouldn't fuck with Granger no matter what she did. Glad she quit though, she just… nagged."

"Are there enough Bulgarians to back him up? I don't even know one person from that region…"

"He's Russian. Plays for Bulgaria only. And yes Potter, he's got enough of a Mafiya behind him to do some serious damage to me, Mattewan or not."

The thought of a siege on the Institute made Harry swallow; walls could only protect one from bullets for a short while. That was something he didn't want to witness.

Seeing Potter's dim realization of the situation, Draco continued. "He is an _excellent_ football player though… I considered offing Granger just for a chance to meet him."

The doctor rose a brow and the blond scowled. "I was _joking_, Potter. Remember my little spiel on the serious damage?"

He couldn't believe he tried to tell a joke. Of course, he did not expect someone as thick as Potter to get it… but he made one, nevertheless. Perhaps to make the doctor laugh? That _was_ the purpose of jokes after all… though his sense of humour differed exponentially from –

- hold up.

_What_?

No, laughter… was not what he wanted. His banter was obviously black humour and would not impress Potter – not that he wanted to, of course.

_Jokes were supposed to be funny_, thought Harry, oblivious to his client's conflict, _and you're not supposed to need to explain them. _"Alright… anything I should know about you two? Something I shouldn't mention to her?"

"Why?" Harry felt the psychopath's eyes flicker to him quickly, "Are you meeting her?"

"Technically… yes. Would you rather I don't?"

Trying to look apathetic, Draco shrugged. "I don't care. I just wouldn't bring up her Rodarte dress though, she might get a little belligerent about that."

"She can afford Rodarte?" replied Harry in an equally bland tone. "I think I would have heard about her if she can afford that."

"Krum probably bought it for her. He can certainly afford it if she can't. But I find it duly strange that you actually _know_ what Rodarte is…"

There was a pregnant pause.

The doctor coughed, and glared. "How do _you_ know about it, then? It's a New York company – it's not hard to hear something about Rodarte if you _live_ in their city."

Draco snorted; Harry tried not to glare again. "Yes, because Granger mentioned it to me before I set it on fire."

"You – you set it on _fire_? How?"

The blond scoffed, as if the answer wasn't plain in sight. "Parkinson. But she's stopped giving matches to me, so you don't need to worry. I thought it'd bring down Granger's 'holier-than-thou' attitude. It didn't."

Harry looked concerned – he knew how uh, _close_ Malfoy and the nurse were. She was almost a henchmen for the blond. "Does Nurse Pansy bring you everything you want or something? That's rather dangerous."

"She's a babysitter of sorts." He replied shortly, the ice returning to his tone.

Draco was starting to see how foolish he had been… for the past few days, if Potter had been _any_ brighter, it would have brought Draco ruin. How he didn't see it earlier was a surprise to him. The psychopath had been so bloody _normal_ and well, as the doctor had said, 'mimicking life' that he might even have fooled himself to believe… that he didn't want to be here.

_Shit_, he thought, the revelation gaining speed in his head, _somehow, Potter's managed to take down a few walls… I wonder how he did it, being so thick and all. I'm going to put it up to luck, because he won't be doing it anymore…_

_Bed or not, if Potter continues this and I let it – this feeling of completion and ease… he will destroy me, outside in._

_I won't allow it. He's just a playing piece, after all._

"- doing so is still very hazardous – er. Malfoy? Draco? Are you alright? You look a little zoned – "

Draco blinked, his thoughts coming to a stop. Potter was speaking.

Seeing that the convict's eyes had finally focused, Harry tried again, moving forward with his original topic. The nurse was not explicitly important. "Ah… so I presume you didn't get along with Doctor Granger?"

"Not really. You're not going to find anything, Potter, I told her less than I told you." The convict's eyes hardened considerably, steel glinting back where irises should be. "And don't think you're a particularly good doctor because I haven't threatened you yet. You're not. And remind Granger of that too – I imagine her head must have inflated since leaving my presence."

Harry bit his tongue as the scathing remarks left Malfoy's mouth, willing himself not to drop to his level. "Er… yes. I'll certainly inform her of such."

After a few moments of awkward silence, Draco spoke again, clipped and cool. Harry frowned as he heard it, shifting in his seat. "And Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Get out."

Harry stared at his client, heart hammering unusually fast. "What?"

"Out. I want to read the paper, and I don't want to continue this session. You're boring me."

"I'm not – " Harry frowned, confusion apparent in his actions and his eyes. Draco refused to meet them. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy."

The blond grunted as Potter left, feeling his heart sink. For some reason, he didn't feel any better. He had expected to feel perfectly fine (or at least… better) once the doctor fled the cell, but now… he just felt a little sick.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

As it seemed, many things weren't going to plan.

Not at all.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Harry's head spun violently. How had this day gone from bad to worse?

He had come back to his room and broken a lamp, an ugly ceramic decoration on his nightstand and thrown a majority of his novels and soft belongings at the opposing wall.

Then, he had crawled into bed.

Something had gone wrong. The doctor snorted involuntarily, bitterly amused at his own statement. That was the biggest understatement of the year – even bigger than the one he had used with Dumbledore a few days before. It was like he had taken a huge step back; it was probably behind where he had _started_.

Had it only been a few days? He had only been on this job for little more than a week and already something had gone wrong. Regular sessions didn't work like this – regular _patients_ didn't clam up in the middle of an appointment and order his doctor out.

But regular wasn't exactly the definition of Draco Malfoy, either.

What had happened? He had been talking about Pansy… which he didn't think was such a caustic topic... Perhaps Malfoy and her had some hostile past? But they had been chatting fine about her… He couldn't think of a line he had crossed with his client that would have induced this.

Harry couldn't get the acrid taste out of his mouth no matter how much he swallowed, or the pain that had curled up somewhere in his chest. He knew, inexplicably, that they had nothing to do with his failure or his ability to be a doctor.

He reached over for his phone, pondering on who he could call. Everyone seemed to be doing something without him – as if taking Harry Potter out of their lives, they had finally overcome the rut they were stuck in and were… moving on.

Speed dial… one.

After three rings, she picked up.

"Gins…" he said quietly, feeling his throat close up. Could he talk to her? He had done something to piss her off already… Suddenly, they were no longer on good terms. But… it was always Ginny that helped.

"I told you not to – Harry…?" What had started out aggressive withered down to worry. "You sound bad… what's happened?"

"I don't know…" he replied softly, "Someone's wrong, though. And I don't know what I did. I'm sorry for calling – I know you're busy and you're angry – "

"It's alright, I'll put it aside. Just talk."

"Thanks."

Harry couldn't convey his gratitude, but he was very, very appreciative indeed.

* * *

Wow, what a weird chapter. You agree with me right? XD R&R is still loved. :heart: Helps me get writing! 

Thank you **Slytherin.Pryncess.666, InTheTelling, gbheart, Shadow Vampira, oli, Iori, the Human Machine, cyiusblack, mystiksnake, StephTheDuke, fantasizeaway33, Blue, Wycked Blaze, thrnbrooke, Destny, Astrid, Jasu, Saiyou-the-lover, Meyshi **and **Angeloffire101** for reviewing. :D!! I love you guys!

Anyways. OoTP ramble. Spoilers, I guess? Lawl.

DRACO IN A SUIT!!!! OH MY GOD, everyone saw it right?! Draco in the beginning as they get off the train and he taunts Harry. HE'S IN A SUIT! I was like fangirling internally because I couldn't explode in the theatre. But I did implode in the car. Everyone in suits are so bloody hot if you ask me. TAT Eheheheh! Total highlight of the movie if you ask me! Possessed!Harry was super awesome as well, but ohmygod they did Voldemort so well… especially in Harry's dreams when he's in a SUIT? UGHWOAHHOT YES?? Hahaha.. and when he goes all 'You will lose… everything' I was like 'ILOVEYOUVOLDIE!'… total sex god there, hahaha.

Oh man, all those slashy bits in the movie made me laugh, like how SNAPE APPEARED IN HARRY'S MIRROR OF ERISED? And the awesome 'Cedric was good, but Voldemort was better' ahahahahaha… My god. I won't complain on the bits I thought were unsatisfactory but just… it was a pretty good movie. Haha. I thought they pulled off Tonks rather nicely as well but she wasn't what I thought she'd look like.

ANYWAYS.

May Draco in a suit be with you!! Hahahaha. Okay. Stopping now. I'm all squealyfangirl right now, don't blame me.


	15. Session 10: An Awkward Raincloud

An early update? Yeps! I don't really expect as many reviews or responses for this chapter because who can read fanfics when the HARRY POTTER BOOK is released TOMORROW?! I won't be updating next week thoughs, just a FYI. ;) I'll probably be crying my heart out… or be in mourning… just depends what stage of grief I'm in. :)

I'm glad so many of you thought Draco in a suit was hawt!!! He really is smoking isn't he? Hahahaha. Harry got so snarky at Draco though. All 'GO AWAY MALFOY OR I'LL BITE YOUR BITS OFF'. Honestly.

_Oli _– Yeah, it's weird isn't it? But I like facts, especially when it's an AU… if it were a Magic!fic, maybe not so much, but I have to remember they're out in the real world and not shielded from normal life stuff… :)

_Astrido_ – Yeah, Sirius has problems… but he's trying to go sober! For Harry's sake!

Kay guys, this chapter is two days, instead of just one day per chapter. I'll be doing this occasionally so I posted dates for you guys to follow. 8)

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**Chapter 15**  
_An Awkward Rain Cloud_

_Thursday, May 20th  
- - - - - - - - - - - -_

"Please, Tom, sit down."

The lawyer did as he was told, sitting in the same familiar chair before laying out several papers and a black suitcase onto the oak table. Dumbledore picked them up and inspected them, readjusting his half-moon spectacles to read.

Riddle unlocked his suitcase and popped the locks open, revealing a sleek Inspiron notebook and pulled it out, propping it onto the desk. After booting the laptop up, the lawyer prompted to the papers still in Dumbledore's hands.

"I'll be burning those after you read them… but those _are_ the files you need me to delete, correct?"

"If they are all the records, then yes…" Dumbledore placed the sheets carefully back into the suitcase, and motioned to the laptop. "Also, I have files from the city governments of Buffalo and state of New York and their source links." He handed a small jumpdrive to Riddle, who nodded and plugged it in.

Dumbledore watched him type, carefully overriding security firewalls and eliminating evidence.

"Shall I delete this too?"

Turning the laptop around, the Dean squinted at the tags of the file.

"Jane Doe," he said flatly, "strangled and disposed. No, don't, as it may stir up controversy if it is ever discovered gone."

"Very well…"

The Dean turned to his own computer, making sure he had not missed anything from his own files. This step was delicate… as long as Riddle didn't falter, he would be fine.

Ten minutes later, Riddle had both his laptop and suitcase closed. "We are done here, Albus. I have covered my tracks, and I am presuming that you will be doing the same. Also, I expect your payment wired to my account by Saturday midnight, at the latest."

The older man nodded tiredly as the doors open and closed with a soft click.

At least the hard part was over.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**10th Session  
May 20th  
Mattewan Psychiatric Institute  
Client: Draco Malfoy  
Diagnosed with: Psychopathy**

" – Draco, will you talk to me? Or at least tell me what I did."

"No. To both questions."

The only sound in the cell was newspaper rustling as Draco flipped between pages, reading once again about the bike path killer. There weren't many articles he actually found interesting and relevant. The bike path killer had been around before he was _born_… That was a little impressive. Never the less, he hadn't heard of this murderer in Britain, making him completely redundant as far as Draco was concerned.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing."

Draco flipped through another page. Cartoons. What was so funny about a bipedal tiger and a vertically challenged boy? How did the tiger _talk_? He knew it was an image but the logics were so strange… And their banter wasn't particularly amusing either. American humour was so… not funny.

Minutes passed by without further conversation, and Harry, disgruntled at Draco's lack of verbosity today, did not press for discussion. What had gone wrong yesterday? Now, Draco had stopped talking to him save for one word responses.

"Give me _something_… I'm the only one talking here."

"Good."

Harry glared at his client, "I won't bring you any more newspapers if you're like this, Malfoy. I don't appreciate this new – "

"Alright."

"What?"

The blond scoffed before putting down the paper, annoyed by his doctor's constant chatter. "Don't bring any newspapers, then. I don't want to talk to you. I think I've made that clear, right?" Internally, he cursed Potter for putting out that ultimatum. The newspaper was something he actually looked forward to, despite not being able to articulate a lot of the articles. But never the less, it couldn't be something Potter could hold over his head.

Harry grunted and got off the orange chair. "If you don't want to talk, then I'll leave. Is that alright with you?"

"Yes."

Exiting the cell, the doctor swore unprofessionally.

What the _fuck_ was wrong with Malfoy? He wouldn't even talk – wouldn't even tell him why he was clamming up or why he seemed so cold. There was no logical reason for his silence. But when was Malfoy ever logical?

With a resigned sigh, he walked back to the foyer, wanting to pick up a few items before going out for a coffee… or maybe a beer? He never enjoyed drinking as much as others, but _damn_, this would be a good time. But being drunk only provided a temporary asylum for his troubles; they would come crashing down on him whenever he sobered up.

At least Sirius had taught him _something_.

No, drinking wasn't the answer… He'd go to research Malfoy's past at the University libraries and get himself familiarized with the route since he'd be attending the seminar tomorrow. Harry doubted he would find too much extensive information in Buffalo; Malfoy had been transported here directly from England which meant his entire family history… would probably be in England.

Then there was Ginny. What had she said? That she was coming? Coming… to Buffalo? There was no reason for doing so, especially since she was in the middle of the apprenticeship. And… Malfoy. Oh God. He'd call her later, as it seemed they were back on acceptable terms. She still hadn't told him what had prompted her hissy fit earlier on, but it wasn't important now.

With a sigh, Harry stalked off to the parking lot. He was pretty sure he'd be drowning in more than one thing this weekend.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ginny bit her lip, staring at her cell phone from under the desk. She had cut off their conversation abruptly – Doctor Pomphrey had told her curtly that her break had ended ten minutes ago. The redhead had told another nurse, Corner, that she needed Mandy Brocklehurst's file and instructed him to take a breather.

She had told Harry she was coming. Oh good god, she had been so close to confessing. _Over a phone._ The woman swallowed; she hadn't given Harry a chance to digest this new information before having to hang up, but Ginny wouldn't be backing down.

Buffalo wasn't that far, anyways. She just couldn't bear having to tell someone that she had loved them for a god damn _decade_ over a phone.

Had it really… been a decade? Ginny had been fifteen when it started – those warm, insecure butterflies that made her avoid her friend for days before she owned up to it and controlled her crush, reassuring herself it would go away… eventually. But they didn't, of course. Nothing was ever that easy.

Why had she kept it in for ten years? Because she had kept telling herself… tomorrow, tomorrow she would tell Harry. It was weak and bashful and really not… _her_.

"Weasley? Are you done?"

With a blink, Ginny broke out of her thoughts, a mantra of damns circulating around her head.

Pausing to collect the file, she muttered a 'thanks' to Michael and pocketed her phone quickly. She went through her rounds, making sure Mr. Quirrell's dialysis treatment was going alright and fetching this and that for other doctors. It was always busy at the hospital of course; Ginny couldn't very well muse on its size however, as she dashed from the second floor to the third level with a shot of epinephrine, dodging other doctors and patients, all of whom looked stunned as she raced past them.

_Damn_, she swore under her breath as she passed the bag to a Doctor Aubrey, _couldn't you get _another_ nurse?_

Ginny exited the room with a sigh and looked up at the large clock on the wall.

Just another hour 'till her shift was over… then she'd have to book her flight. And where did Harry say he was at? That asylum… Mattewan. Right.

There would be no more tomorrows, no more excuses. Just a confession, and then… it'd be all up to him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Friday, May 21th  
- - - - - - - - - - - -_

He was having withdrawal symptoms.

At least, that's what it felt like.

Draco frowned, the newspaper blurring in front of his eyes. He threw the sheet aside with a snarl and resorted to stare at the opposite wall in disgust. This was becoming _ridiculous…_ This feeling of dissatisfaction had instead of going away, decided to snuggle into the pit of his stomach and live there for the time being. At least he didn't feel nauseous, but this was… ridiculous.

He'd been reading the same damn newspaper for two days now – scoured it top and bottom. He could probably recite the entire International section flawlessly. He was bored.

And he was… pretty sure Potter had quit.

Noon had passed a few hours ago; Pansy had arrived to give him his meal. He hadn't even heard anyone come _past_ his cell besides Pansy, and Draco had known from her customary heels that it was not Potter.

Even imagining the doctor in heels didn't tease a snigger from him. Damn.

He shifted on the palate in discontent, feeling panic claw at his throat. This wasn't… right! He had told Potter to leave so he could _avoid _the distraction.

Maybe he could sleep…

Or not.

This wasn't supposed to happen. But perhaps… he should start expecting the unexpected, because nothing turned out the way he predicted anymore; the feeling was reminiscent of a blind man stumbling in a field of land mines.

Utterly, artlessly _dangerous._

Draco blinked and looked up at the small window, hearing the muffled beat of downpour.

It was raining.

How appropriate.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Harry finally saw why girls carried purses.

He had taken things in and out of his knapsack, then reduced it to just a file and his keys. The bag was too large for his scant belongings but a plastic bag did not look as classy, unfortunately.

Finally he settled on just pocketing his keys and nothing else. It'd look ridiculous if he was the only one that had brought any paperwork to a seminar… but then again… it might look normal because people took notes –

- stop. Harry scowled and picked Malfoy's folder up, reassuring himself that he'd leave it in the car.

He felt a prick of guilt – _guilt_? – that he had skipped the session today. But… this would help Malfoy. He had instead, taken a detour to Ron's cell with a nurse's aid because he hadn't gotten anything from Ginny before she had hung up, but found that the man was gone. Again. He hadn't worried too much though – Hagrid would catch him. Now he wondered if Malfoy knew anything about Ron… but he wasn't talking.

No matter, he wanted to meet this Doctor Granger woman, and maybe her husband as well. Just to spite Malfoy to say he's met his idolized Viktor Krum.

As he got into the SUV, Harry cursed the weather – it was coming down _hard_, and he didn't want to go to this seminar drenched. When he finally got on the road, the doctor flipped through the various radio stations, as his MP3 was not present with him. After going through the lot, there was nothing he found particularly pleasing – he didn't like oldies or hip hop or the Top 40. Just jazz, which they didn't have.

He pulled up to the University, surprised by its lacklustre. Harry spent the next half an hour going around the campuses before finding Hochsetter Hall. He entered and found 'follow-the-signs' to the seminar, through many hallways, stairways and floors, he finally came to a large lecture room with multitudes of seats. Looking around – the place wasn't _packed_ but it wasn't empty – the doctor slipped into a relatively deserted row near the front plateau.

"Did you wander here as well?"

Harry turned to the dreamy voice, and was met with a blond woman with large silver eyes who seemed to have scooted up the row to sit next to him. He backed up in his seat immediately, producing stings from his thigh as his keys dug into his leg.

"U – uh," he replied awkwardly, "no? I'm here for the seminar."

The woman smiled and nodded, "A seminar? Really? I don't know how I got here… but the hall is awfully pretty."

Before Harry could reply to her, the lights dimmed considerably and the plateau was lit.

Doctor Granger stepped out onto the stage, Harry was mildly impressed. She was pretty and fashion savvy but … Malfoy had been telling the truth – she looked a little… plain. She had slightly wild hair which looked like it had a considerable amount of hair gel in it – Harry could see the way Granger had attempted to tame it; hypocritically, it made him snigger. At least he didn't look so bad with his bedhead.

"Hello everyone, I'm glad you could all make it. I'm Doctor Hermione Granger, and I'm 27 years old. Today's seminar is on cognitive neuropsychology. Now, we start with the _concept _of this science…"

Harry tried to listen – really, he did. It wasn't like Granger wasn't a good speaker – she was dynamic and enunciated her voice and was a good public speaker, and it wasn't like he hated the subject. He loved biology and plant systems and body systems but neuropsychology wasn't something he could get into… he found the brain fascinating and liked the portion of her lecture about the regions of the brain. But the method and tools of the science were… not something that interested him. At all.

He found his lids getting rather heavy, and looked beside him at that strange blond woman. Was she wearing… radish earrings? He squinted and adjusted his glasses. Yep, those were radishes. How weird… They somehow went with her hazy appearance though.

" – and that wraps up my lecture! If you have any questions, don't be afraid to approach me."

The man blinked. It was over? He looked at his watch and surprise – it was 6:50. Hmm. Watching a few doctors advance towards the main plateau, he turned around, maybe to converse with that strange woman –

- but she was gone. He blinked again – how had she managed to disappear without making a sound or him noticing? He wasn't a heavy sleeper – and even if he was, Harry was only semi-asleep the entire time.

Deciding this would be a good time to talk to Granger, he got up and stretched before climbing the steps to the stage. There were one or two men around her, and she was laughing. None of them looked familiar.

Granger paused when she saw him and then promptly shoved both men out of her way.

"Doctor Potter? Harry Potter?" she asked, voice rising in octaves.

Harry stood at the end of the lit podium and nodded stiffly. Alright… he hadn't expected uh, this response.

"Oh – hmm. Doctor Montague and Doctor Higgs, thank you for seeing me." She waved dismissively and they walked off, grumbling. Harry was tempted to chuckle. Obviously Montague and Higgs didn't know about Miss Granger's scary husband.

Hermione turned back to him with a smile, "I've read your biography! You're a marvellous doctor – I'd like to know a little more about you, Doctor – "

"Harry," he offered – her tone was so embarrassing, "just Harry. Um, I don't like the title…"

"Harry. Just Hermione, then. Now, you're fairly young – 26, correct? You have to tell me your secret because at 26… how did you become a certified licensed psychiatrist when you didn't excel in high school?"

Wow. That was an intrusive question – he didn't like talking about high school. The doctor scowled and looked at her strangely – he had never read any of his biographies, the notion made him feel narcissistic and embarrassing. "My residency was cut short but I still passed my exams…" Just to be polite, he asked, "But you're 27. How did you do it? The psychiatrist I was working for hated me."

She beamed and spoke quickly. "Well, I graduated high school at age 15 – my parents were so surprised. I pursued two majors – neuropsychology and psychiatry, but I decided to take psychiatry as my job. I skipped my residency stage and got a license at age 24… and I've been working ever since."

Harry stared. _What was the point of asking if you outshine me?_ He paused, wondering why, again, he had never heard of Hermione Granger.

"So… I'm here to talk about um, Draco Malfoy. You were a former doctor of his, right?"

Hermione stiffened and she looked at him suspiciously. "Yes… unfortunately, he was my last client."

Her body language and curt tone told him not to say anything further, but… well… it was the whole reason he had come here.

"Um, did you find anything strange?"

"No, not particularly… except… for… did you ever find that lapse between when Mr. Malfoy was sentenced to when he was actually transferred to Mattewan? I never found anything at all, but I couldn't investigate any further."

With the hint of a premonition on the horizon, Harry nodded in agreement. That _was_ something he had noticed… but now he had confirmation it was something shady. "So that was it? Did you quit because Malfoy was harassing you or…"

"Well partially … Doctor Dumbledore was actually the one that instructed me to leave, but he said Mr. Malfoy had requested I do so… It was a good thing anyways, because he kept flirting with me…"

With that, Harry gulped and licked his lips nervously. "R-really? Did you ever pay any attention to it?"

She shrugged, "I wasn't engaged to Viktor at that time, and it wasn't like I didn't think of dressing myself up a little to see Draco but… I kept reminding myself that he had killed multitudes of people and that he was a cold-hearted murderer."

The brunet man chuckled weakly. "Right, of course…"

Granger shot him a glance as if she suspected something but straightened her blouse. A sound emitted from a table behind the curtain. She presented a small piece of paper to Harry before ushering to her purse.

"That would be Viktor… I've got to go now, Harry. Feel free to contact me again – I've written my number on that. I'm sorry I couldn't give you a card; I ran out."

"I'll certainly be calling…" he replied, "I've still got questions."

Hermione smiled warmly, "And I'll try my best to answer. Bye, Doctor Potter. It was a pleasure to meet you."

As he stepped out of the auditorium, Harry heard the drumming of rain against the hall roof. He scowled - it was still pouring outside. Harry returned his gaze to the back of the torn page. The irony made him grin.

'_Denton Cottier & Daniels, Piano and Organ rental service; located on 460 Dodge Road, Getzville 14068. _'


	16. Session 11: Bittersweet Poetry

**Author's Note**: HUZZAH!!! Update! I know. :P I apologize for slacking off. I took a rather long detour to the land of ALBUS SEVERUS X SCORPIUS so… uh. Well. Yes. I have a lot of fics for them. x)

Updates will no longer be weekly. :( Grade 11 is harsh, y/y?

The title of this chapter is inspired by one of my favorite songs by Kanye West and John Mayer. :)

* * *

**Chapter 16**  
_ Bittersweet Poetry_

**11th Session  
May 22nd  
Mattewan Psychiatric Institute  
Client: Draco Malfoy  
Diagnosed with: Psychopathy**

"Where'd you want us to put this, sir?"

Harry stared at the two rather bulky men who were moving a large dark upright piano down a ramp, plus a folded box on top of it - which he assumed was the stool. Harry blinked, unsure. "Er… inside?"

The pair scowled at him and one man pointed roughly to the steps. "You'll need to help us with those."

Harry shrugged and proceeded to help haul the instrument over the three shallow steps and into the main foyer of the hospital. Although it wasn't too heavy (he suspected it was because of the two rather disgruntled movers to either side of him), he was suddenly glad the piano had wheels.

"Now," replied one of the men, "where'sa elevator?"

Turning pink, the doctor rummaged in his pockets for the set of keys Hagrid had given him to the janitorial loft – there was a distinct possibility it may not work due to the weight of the piano. _Oh God, please let it work… _he didn't want to carry the monstrosity down the flight of stairs.

Finding the loops of metal in his right pocket, he brought out the set of keys and pointed to a set of double elevators to the left of the main hall. Malfoy's ward was only one level below the main level of the Hospital - and as they rolled the piano into the steel box, Harry felt his gut quiver squeamishly. The elevator groaned slightly but otherwise, it was fine, and Harry managed a cleansing breath in relief. The three got out of the elevator as Harry pressed the F1 floor before prompting both of the movers to run after him down the stairs.

They got to the elevator as it was closing – Harry cursed and placed a hand in the door to stop it from doing so. He sighed when the doors slid open again and wondered briefly if Hagrid would help them. This did seem like the sort of job Hagrid was very adept at doing. The men glanced at each other before they moved the instrument down the hall, turning to Harry's directions until they stopped outside his patient's cell.

Both of the men looked slightly more uncomfortable with this – Harry knew they had probably read the ward title and knew there were mentally ill people here and hesitated as Harry told them to move it in after he opened the door.

"Er, we're not going to do that," said one and pulled down his sleeves, looking strangely sheepish but the expression didn't fit his face at all, "We're only delivery, not installation. You'll have to get someone else."

"I'm paying – " Harry scowled, placing a hand on his hip unconsciously, " – for this!"

"No," replied the other who Harry predicted was probably the more articulate of the two, "you're paying for the delivery of your piano to a general location and the rental of it. We're not responsible for putting it where you want."

"Sign here please," muttered the first man and offered the doctor a large clipboard. Harry did so grudgingly and didn't bother to say a goodbye as they left; too occupied with thinking how to move a gigantic instrument into Malfoy's cell. He glanced at the piano with blatant resignation and thought about how to get it up the small leverage. There was no way he could do it alone.

He punched in the numbers of the keypad and the door slid open - he saw the blond patient open his mouth to say something scathing but the words were lost somewhere along the way. Harry relished the look of Malfoy's jaw dropping much like a collector valued a particularly rare stamp, although his joy was a tad more malicious than procuring an expensive, useless piece of paper.

"Malfoy," Harry said with as much dispassion as he could muster, "help me lift this damn thing." He had placed himself at the end of the piano, which was jutting out in the hallway, and gritted his teeth when he tried to raise it. His end raised a bare centimeter before he yelled, "Malfoy!" again.

There was a scramble, a shuffle and a yelp before he felt the piano lift ever so slightly off the ground. Harry exerted more pressure on his hands and lifted upwards, making his biceps moan softly. "Move back now," he mumbled and attempted to push the instrument towards his client as a hint.

One end of the piano suddenly dropped like a stone; Harry managed to get his fingers out from beneath it before a ton of wood and ivory crushed his digits.

"Fuck!" spat the dark-haired man, nursing his fingers. "Listen, you need to help. Do you want me to return this?"

His client stood, looking fractionally shaken at the piano before him before turning to Harry and pouting.

"I'm not lifting that," replied the blond in a small voice, although he gave the instrument a longing look, "it's dangerous, Potter. Go get that oaf from security. He's not very good at guarding but he should be able to lift this like a pebble."

Harry was very tempted to swear a few more times but simply picked up his cell and speed dialed the guard. As he spoke to Hagrid in hushed tones, Draco was stroking the ivory keys slowly - not daring to make a sound just yet, like he feared it would disappear when he decided he wanted to play.

It was a few minutes before the security guard arrived; Harry was glad – the hushed silence that had passed over them was eerie to say the least, although he knew the blond hadn't noticed at all. It was actually kind of creepy to see the psychopath look over the instrument as if it was something to be worshipped – his grey eyes perusing the mahogany with a sense of idolatry Harry was afraid to interrupt.

"'Arry!"

Sighing in relief, Harry waved to Hagrid as the man came down the steps, skipping twos in giant steps. The guard gave a quizzical look at Malfoy who was still stroking the piano softly before returning his gaze to the doctor.

"M'kay 'Arry, lift up one end and I'll do the other," replied Hagrid gruffly, large hands already beneath the instrument. Draco watched them with minimal interest but had removed his hands, looking bored all of a sudden. Harry snickered as he moved backwards into the cell, taking care not to trip on the small uprising. Malfoy had been partially right – the task had been much easier with the security guard, though it was plain to see why.

After thanking and reassuring Hagrid that his client wasn't going to run off, Harry ushered the blond in, taking a seat in the ugly plastic chair. He hadn't brought anything this time; save for the small ballpoint he carried around everywhere, and tried to adopt a casual position as Malfoy gave him a strange look before speaking.

"Stool, Potter?"

Harry pointed to the box on top (which somehow had miraculously made it through the trip without shifting). He grinned when the psychopath visibly flinched and frowned, but pulled the box onto the ground and unfolded its legs.

The thing creaked, procuring a look of sheer disdain from Malfoy as he sat down.

There was visible hesitance – the blond's long fingers touched the keys lightly - still, no noise. Harry watched, suspense building in the expanding silence. Warm shafts of light filtered in from the small window, illuminating Malfoy's hair and eyelashes along with the dark wood.

One note vibrated into the still air – a g sharp? Harry saw the dust rise from the key sharply, enunciated by the light – he knew of some keys from clarinet in high school (and he had hated it) but had forgotten most of it in the decade or so that followed it. There was hardly any time for practicing when he had courses and university to attend.

A melody played out slowly, hesitantly; only the treble clef was played. The tempo didn't increase, Harry noted, even as Malfoy started to gain confidence and his left hand joined in.

The song was haunting and deliberately slow yet… strangely somber. Casting one look at the psychopath, Harry was surprised to see his client's closed eyes and almost… serene expression – it was too much of a contrast to his usual apathetic, deadly air. The chords were repeated as the melody continued for many minutes – the doctor realized with a start that he had been holding his breath after a minute of two and turned pink, embarrassed from his obvious enrapture.

Malfoy had not taken note of it obviously, fingers moving deftly across the keys, a small bittersweet smile appearing on his lips.

The song ended with a diminuendo; Draco's fingers linger for a few more seconds before he opened his eyes – for a moment, the air is still and there is no anger, no danger. Just… sadness. So much that Malfoy doesn't even rein it in; he simply plays and drowns in it.

Harry's breath hitched, feeling goosebumps prickling on every inch of bare skin.

_This wasn't right… This feeling… isn't right._

"Morendo…" the convict murmurs after a few minutes, startling Harry out of his trance.

"You're … um, very good." Said the doctor, feeling usually stupid as he couldn't find the right words to say. "Morendo…?"

Draco smirked, but without its usual edge. "It's a dynamic used in the piece. It means to… die away."

_How appropriate…_

"What was that?"

The blond's smirk faltered for a moment; he turned back to the piano and looked at the gold engraving of '_Bechstein_' before replying.

"Moonlight Sonata Opening 27 by Beethoven… It's fairly well known Potter, but I suspect you are not educated in the ways of music." Malfoy paused, as if he was debating whether to add something. "My mother… taught it to me when I was eleven… It took three months to learn."

Harry withered slightly at Malfoy's comment and scowled. He had heard of the Moonlight Sonata before, geez. Still scowling, he tried to shift on the chair again, finding his current position was making his ass go numb.

"I thought it sounded familiar," grunted Harry, sitting on the edge of the orange chair now.

"Of course, Potter." replied Malfoy smoothly, raising a brow, a smile intruding on his cool expression.

The blond muttered something before placing his fingers on the ivory keys again. A soft, slow tune drifted through the cell. Although it carried the same sort of melancholy as the previous Sonata, it felt warmer, sweeter somehow.

This one is much shorter but Harry couldn't tear his eyes away, no matter how hard he tried. Was this the magic of music? He doesn't recognize the tune or the notes but it didn't really seem to matter; watching and listening was good enough for him.

The song crescendos powerfully - the doctor watched his fingers dance across the keys. He watches Malfoy himself, lashes painted a white gold, gray irises lit with sunlight.

In that short second Harry believed, without a doubt, that Malfoy was sane – that if he reached out and touched him… he wouldn't get burnt.

And before he knows it, the song is over – and with it, that second disappears as well.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"God damnit Rem!"

Something soft hit the back of Lupin's head and the professor stifled a groan, blinking groggily. He removed the object sluggishly (which turned out to be a pillow) and turned to the source of the insufferable noise.

"Whaaaaat?" croaked the man, straining to sit up on his bed. This was the _weekend_, good god, and he was getting up at… hmm, eleven, well alright. But still. He could have slept in a little more before the mass amount of papers that needed to be graded and course outlines swamped him for another week.

"Brunch time, yes yes?" said Sirius, looking pained but awkwardly excited.

The professor blinked. "Eat some cereal or something," he deadpanned before slumping back onto the mattress and closing his eyes. Something hard poked him in the back of the head; Remus forced his eyes open to meet the dark gray ones of his friend. They looked sort of a like a sad puppy's but unfortunately, Remus wanted nothing but to drown all the small, baby animals in the world at that moment.

"But warm food is better you see, and I haven't cooked since – "

"- ever." Interjected Remus dryly, prying one golden eye open in amusement. "You burnt pancakes in second year of college and almost set the dorm on fire. Even _Peter_ cooked better than you."

"Glad you remember that," replied Sirius with a pout and fled the room. He shouted from the hallway, tone slightly gleeful.

"I'll just have to cook my own breakfast then! Now then, how do I turn the stove on?"

Remus groaned. _Damn_.

Crash.

"Oops!"

Dragging himself out of bed, alarm bells ringing too loudly in his head for him to fall asleep, Remus lumbered to the kitchen. Low and behold, Sirius was sitting on the table, fork in hand and the appropriate hungry expression plastered over his face.

The teacher exhaled in an exasperated manner and pulled out a frying pan and a carton of eggs from the fridge.

"Sunny-side up, please," said Sirius with a grin, lacing his fingers behind his head.

Remus rolled his eyes and cracked the egg.

It was going to be a _long_ day.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Potter had cheated.

Draco sighed, fingers twitching on his lap. It wasn't fair but he wasn't really complaining. He watched dust swirl in the air and wondered how long it'd been since he had touched the keys of a piano… Seven, almost eight? He couldn't remember anymore. But it didn't matter.

He remembered playing every night for multiple hours, bars of the same lullaby his mother had taught him and transposing it until his fingers were too tired to produce one more note; playing to soothe his parents to an eternal sleep.

There was no guilt there – he had never felt any guilt for doing what he had done. He never did. This wasn't remorse – this was a painful, dangerous nostalgia.

A soft smile curled on his lips as Draco closed his eyes, remembering the feel of the soft keys beneath his digits and how _right_ it felt. The Bechstein paled in comparison to the touch of a Bösendorfer but nevertheless; the standard was quite marred as he had not seen his beloved grand in an approximate decade.

Music filled the room, and there was no room for bothersome Potter or planning the next step of their superficial game – only sound.

A strange harmony existed as Potter watched him, and Draco wondered how he could feel so content with his back turned. It was a very abstract feeling and faintly familiar, but still rather comforting.

They had sat for minutes of silence – Potter was watching him – while he attempted to remember how to play Rachmaninov's third concerto, first movement.

They didn't speak.

Draco knew Potter had gone to a somewhat extreme length to bring him the only thing he wanted – he also knew Potter wanted answers now. And worst of all, Draco felt obligated to talk.

He wouldn't though. Not now, not later.

"A lovely opportunity, Potter…" said the psychopath in hushed tones that made Harry strain to listen, "but I won't be divulging my life's secrets because you've brought me this."

"I know," replied Harry simply, "I didn't think you would."

"Then why…?"

"Because I figured you'd enjoy it." The doctor shrugged, got up and stretched before moving towards the door. "I guess I'll let you enjoy it now; my presence must be irritating."

Draco said nothing but had started to ghost-play, fingers stroking the keys as he recalled the familiar tune of the concerto. He couldn't afford to make a mistake, as flaws would be his downfall.

The doors slid close with a small suction and Draco was left alone. He started to play – painfully slow at first, because he remembered this song was such a challenge – gaining momentum as the tempo sped up.

The music swells and Draco starts to sweat – the piece took him ages to learn. He never mastered it; he could never master any of Rachmaninoff's works. He didn't have the composer's hand span… or his heart. These bars are turbulent; his fingers fly across the chromatics, the sharps and flats. The _fff_ appears in his mind's eye – there's no reason to play hard. The music commands for the right dynamics and he will provide.

The speed fluctuates but the volume does decrease; Draco hated the contrasting octaves and almost fumbled – he said nothing but swore internally, squinting to concentrate.

He finishes off with a flourish. There is no applause, of course. There never has been.

Draco sighed – a small bead of sweat trickled down from his brow from the warmth and the energy put forward. He frowned and wiped it off, an expression of disdain crossing his features. It shouldn't have been that hard.

Nevertheless, Potter would have enjoyed it.

He would have to remember to thank him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_The view is nice_, mused Riddle as he slowly stripped, changing into a comfortable pair of slacks and a cuffed dress-shirt, watching the busy streets of Buffalo below him. The sun painted his hotel room orange and crimson as it set – the light is beautiful but Tom preferred New York. Or London. Buffalo was a little too quaint for him; he wouldn't be here unless he had a nice payout.

Twenty-five million was… well, very nice.

Provided Dumbledore was smart enough to send the funds over an untraceable wire, he could be out of this little city by tomorrow morning. He had nothing to hide of course, except for that hefty amount of change divided ten ways between his European offshore accounts. What could the authorities find? Riddle had been clean for the past five years. Didn't even dabble in politics and law anymore, apparently.

With a small, devious smile, the lawyer closed his laptop and replaced it carefully in his suitcase.

Though why leave tomorrow? Things were getting interesting in Mattewan – certainly Dumbledore couldn't have summoned him here because Harry Potter? Tom really had thought the doctor was brighter – Potter seemed a little dim in real life, although he supposed the man's charm made up for it.

He remembered Granger and Dumbledore's panicked calls and wondered how close she had really gotten to the truth.

_Fly too close to the sun and your wings will melt_, hmm?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Thursday, May 23rd  
- - - - - - - - - - - -_

There was something… warm in his mouth.

Hmm… it didn't feel half bad, really. Actually… pretty good. _Very_ good? It actually felt a little like… a kiss. No, a _lot_ like a kiss. Huh…

Harry made a sound in the back of his throat, kissing back slightly, deciding he was going to be more forceful when he regained his senses. It was still morning, after all. Whoever it was deepened it considerably, tongue clashing with his – the doctor decided this was probably a good time to fight back. Even though they were rather nice lips, it was time for a bit of _bruising._

The intruder withdrew somewhat suddenly however; Harry made a noise that was akin to a disappointed whine at the loss.

Someone chuckled softly.

"Good morning to you too, Potter. Now go brush your teeth. Morning breath is _not_ attractive."

His eyes snapped open. Everything was a mass blur of shapes and colours, but he could identify something blond and bastard shaped above him.

Oh _fuck_.

Scrambling for his glasses, Harry squinted at the person who was sitting on top of him. Malfoy came in focus. W-was he _straddling_ him?

FUCK.

Harry rolled so violently that Draco actually jumped off the uncomfortable mattress. Looking around, the doctor clasped his fingers around the closest hard object (which was a ugly glass statue of a cat that Ginny had bought for him in grade ten) and held it above his head.

"W-what are you doing here Malfoy? In my room? _How_?"

Malfoy shrugged. "That's not really important, is it Doctor?"

"Um. Yes. It. Is." Harry punctuated each point with a sharp glare but lowered his arm and placed the cat on the drawer once again. He exhaled and rubbed the bridge of his nose, wondering if this day could have started off any worse. "Fine. Was it Pansy?"

"No, actually."

Shit. Now Malfoy had some other way of breaking out and harassing him in his private dorm.

"How did you get the pass?"

The blond made his way onto the bed again and sat down, folding his legs and leaning back on his forearms. "There's this nice nurse who fancies you down there. Susan, was it? Yes, I believe it was Susan. She gave me a… card. I imagine you had to insert the card into the slot to open the door? It worked, anyway."

Malfoy didn't show him the card, but it was obviously on him. However the habit had no pockets…

The postponed blush soon spread across his face like wildfire and Harry swore again, more embarrassed than furious.

"Why are you here?"

"Oh well, I thought it'd be an interesting experience to have a session in your room rather than mine." Malfoy was smiling in an extremely unpleasant way. Harry quickly checked his back before turning back to the psychopath.

"No." Harry gritted his teeth, jaw set. "Now go back to your own damn cell."

"But Mother…"

"Look. You can break out of your cell any time you want and do whatever the hell you want but you are _not_ allowed to come into my own damn room and sexually assault me!" Harry scowled, staring down Malfoy who, to his dismay, looked amused.

The psychopath shrugged, a wry smirk festering on those lips that had been on Harry's mere moments before. "Well… from my vantage point Doctor, it really did seem like you were _enjoying_ the kiss. I probably imagined that moan, hmm?"

Harry's insufferable flush returned as he prowled to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. The doctor brushed his teeth aggressively, brows knitted in frustration. He splashed cool water on his face multiple times to cool down, muttering every swear he could think of that was applicable to Malfoy.

He can't think of anything witty, either, to make Malfoy leave. Harry had the ominous feeling that he wouldn't be able to.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Malfoy shoved him to the wall as he opened the door and walked out; Harry's head narrowly missed a quaint series of horizontal paintings of a barnyard opposite the bathroom.

Harry noted that Malfoy either wasn't very strong or wasn't trying very hard, because if he really wanted to, he could have thrown Malfoy off.

Well, he didn't _really_ want to. Not yet.

"Live a little, Potter." Whispered the blond with a small smile before placing his mouth on Harry's once more.

Something implodes in Harry's brain and he's kissing back, so hard that he can feel Malfoy's teeth against his own. He wanted to laugh as the convict froze for a second – it was so damn _funny_ that he wasn't expecting this. Malfoy's mouth was hot and wet, and the only thing Harry's brain can articulate is that the blond is very good at this.

They broke apart; Malfoy had one brow raised even while he's panting lightly.

"That would be… a thank you. For the piano."

Harry opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by three sharp raps on the door.

Eyes growing to the size of saucepans, the doctor swore again.

"You! Bathroom! Just stay there, I'll… go see who it is."

Draco opened his mouth to complain or protest but stopped when Harry gave him a very caustic glare.

The psychopath shrugged and followed the doctor's persistent usher into the small room. He said nothing as Harry shut the door, mind already working overtime.

Potter kissed him back. Consciously. And enjoyed it. A very favourable thing of course, but it troubled him – what had happened? He had half expected the doctor to throw him into a piece of furniture before he'd coax anything out of him.

As Harry opened the door a crack, he found himself looking at the face of a nurse – she blushed when she saw him. Was this Susan? He snickered at the thought but tried to compose himself.

"Um. Yes?"

"I'm so sorry to disturb you Doctor, I'm sure you're very busy…" Nurse Susan blushed a soft pink and chewed her lip. Harry was tempted to roll his eyes at the blatant attempt at flirting but remained straight-faced as she continued. "but Miss McGonagall sent me up."

The dark-haired man quirked a brow, making Susan's eyes widen slightly.

"There's a woman downstairs who's waiting for you."

Harry blanched. "Did she say her name?"

"Miss Ginny Weasley, I believe."

* * *

DUN DUN DUN.  
insert dramatic cliffhanger here :D  
K yeah, I figured by ch 16, something should've happened. xD We're about half-done done now! 

Thank you **myHeartAche, Slytherin.Pryncess.666, Cheerleader16, MGS, IchigoMARS, Angeloffire101, Highly-Insane, Iori, Kelli, the Human Machine, Anave Lipad, inu-youkai 911, Sutzina Zion, misha1137, MoonlightPrincess, StephTheDuke, MagicalWinry, Mochitsuki, SilentSleepingInTheCold, Astrido, Cyiusblack, Weecha, oli, fifspice** and **thrnbrooke** for reviewing!! I love you guys, and keep reviewing. x) My muse comes from feedback!


	17. Session 12: Only the Silent Reverie

**Author's Note: **WHAT IS THIS? I'm alive!

Okay yeah, update. Alice Syndrome for Christmas! ;) Anyway, I've been busy. School + holidays pure hell, unfortunately. Ah well. :) I'm not sure when the next chapter will be… I'll put a deadline before the end of February.

I had to include a :::_beautiful_::: songfic (sort of) in here. :P You'll see what I mean.

ALSO, sorry for the lack of development of the subplots in this (aka the Rem+Sirius, Dumbles+Riddle, Tonks+Rem and all my unnecessary yet amusing ship things). I will get around to it in the next chapter. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sor—

* * *

**Chapter 17**  
_ Only the Silent Reverie_

"Ginny?"

Harry groaned inwardly but smiled, running his fingers through his hair in an exasperated manner.

"Well regardless, I'll be down in a few moments. Thanks… Nurse Susan, was it?"

The woman blushed prettily. "You know my name! That's truly an honour… You're quite well known around these parts, aren't you? I've watched that one documentary on your Eddie Carmichael case…"

Nodding absentmindedly, Harry gave another awkward smile; Susan took the gesture as a closure of their conversation. Even she couldn't keep her cheery disposition as her face fell slightly – there was a hesitance but she shook her head and disappeared down the hallway. The doctor closed the door quietly before leaning on its frame and closing his eyes.

Ginny? Today? Of _all _the days she could have visited, it had to be today. For once in her life, his friend had the worst timing _ever_.

"Do I get to meet this Ginny, finally?"

His eyes snapped open at the sound of Malfoy's drawl – the convict had apparently thought his time in captivation was over. The blond was fiddling with this SLVR again (which had previously been on the desk), squinting at something.

"No. Done downloading porn yet?" replied Harry shortly, moving towards his client to reclaim his phone. He wasn't even angry – just slightly annoyed. God, he was getting desensitized to Malfoy's tactics. Quite frankly, he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. After a few moments of going through the calls and messages, Harry decided that Malfoy probably couldn't navigate his way around his phone enough to do any more damage than calling someone on speed dial. "Go back to your cell, Malfoy. I don't have time for your games today."

Draco shrugged, giving Harry a small smile before slipping out the door. It worried the doctor that he looked so unperturbed, but really, that was not the problem at hand. He'd think about it later.

Slipping the small phone into his pocket, Harry made sure to lock the door and proceed down the stairs, looking around for Malfoy in case the psychopath hadn't actually left. This wasn't needed however, as there was no sight of blond hair in the long hallway. He steeled himself and tried to flatten his hair, wondering if he looked flushed or well… recently kissed. There seemed to be an awful lot of things he was pushing back to the depths of his mind; Harry wasn't sure that compression would be good for him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_It was awfully quiet for an institute_, thought Ginny as she shuffled her feet, looking around the vast space of the foyer. _Then again... it's an asylum. Maybe I'm just used to New York Mercy._

Mattewan looked well established, if not a little empty. She figured Harry had at least checked out the place before going there; it didn't really resemble the location in her head. After all, there were no screams or blood on the walls, but she hadn't gone further than the front entrance yet. The woman could see her reflection in the hardwood floors; her sepia-painted eyes staring back at her from the ground.

Her stomach felt queasy and Ginny could hear her heart beating under her fist. It was so loud - she wouldn't be surprised if the woman at the desk could hear it. But if she did, the secretary did not note it and continued to answer the phone calls that poured through the lines, and Ginny kept shuffling. It was unlike her to fidget, really, but... she was nervous. This would the finale after almost a decade of denial and hiding, appeasing and telling herself tomorrow, _tomorrow_. The day had finally come, and she wasn't sure how it would end. There was such a thin line between heartbreak and happiness.

"You're her then?"

A voice behind her shocked Ginny out of her internal monologue. She spun around, only to see a thin man with pale hair, looking slightly amused and unimpressed. Was he a nurse? Ginny pondered for a moment but then banished the thought as she reached his feet. No shoes - probably not, then. But his attire - the simple gray shirt and pants... looked somewhat like hospital scrubs. Maybe he was one of those … hippie nurses? The ones who hated limitations like uniforms and shoes. She wasn't sure it fit the other characteristics however, considering his pristine hair and nails.

He didn't particularly look offended by the silence and Ginny paused, feeling the blond's eyes give her a quick look-over. Well, this was awkward...

"If by 'her', you mean... Doctor Potter's visitor, then yes. Are you the escort? Is he busy? He shouldn't be but - " A slew of questions tumbled out of her mouth, and she pulled back in hesitance, cheeks turning pink at her apparent worry.

A small, unpleasant smile curled on his lip. "Yes, I imagine he should be arriving shortly. Meanwhile, would you like to tell me a little about yourself? The doctor has mentioned you a lot around these parts."

The redhead cocked her head. "Has he now? Well what has he told you?"

"Not nearly as much as I want to know," admitted the blonde with a shrug, "but he's obviously forgot to mention how incredibly blatant you are."

Ginny frowned and stepped back unconsciously, brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"And to think he doubted me," his expression turned smug and oddly excited, "so, how will this proceed? Any plans to get Potter drunk and guilt him into a relationship? Though, it'd probably be more effective if you got pregnant…"

The redhead scowled and folded her arms across her chest. "Huh. Your voice sounds oddly familiar. Could you be – no - you couldn't be that…"

He opened his mouth to announce (most likely in an extravagant, melodramatic fashion) when he was interr -

"MALFOY!"

A figure was walking briskly towards the pair, firing optical daggers at the psychopath. The blond's smile widened. Even he couldn't have planned it as well as this, though it would be a damn shame that he couldn't watch it unfold. It had been so long since he had some proper entertainment.

"Doctor Potter! You have perfect timing," replied Draco nonchalantly, "I was just introducing myself to your – "

Harry gritted his teeth and grabbed his client's arm, fingers wrapping around a malnourished bicep. "Malfoy. Cell. _Now_. I had hoped you weren't deaf but apparently my expectations were too high."

The blond flinched, but opted to bat his eyelashes in a nauseatingly seductive fashion. "Oh my, Doctor… I never knew you were so_ forward_."

"Malfoy – " Harry turned to Ginny, straining to smile pleasantly, " – he's really only the client – "

"Oh, no need to heckle me Potter," said the psychopath matter-of-factly, brushing off the doctor's death-grip without a second thought. He then turned his gaze towards Ginny. Malfoy grinned and waved, the whites of his teeth showing.

"Have fun, girl. I don't think you'll get what you want, though."

As soon as the blond man was out of sight Ginny turned to Harry, brows raised to the point where they almost touched her hairline. Harry noted how comical it looked, but thought it probably wasn't a good time to mention it. He doubted there would ever be such a time, to be honest.

"Gossiping about me now, Potter?" she asked coolly, all fidgeting gone. The woman was personally glad for the icebreaker, no matter how unusual, or… crazy. It really didn't make the moment any less awkward, however.

Harry scratched his head and chuckled nervously. He was stepping on eggshells with Ginny already, what with the sudden aggression he had faced last week to the extremely impromptu visit to Buffalo. It was all a little unusual, especially if you took it out of context, but compared to the debacle concerning Malfoy and Mattewan in general, it was just a slight blip on the radar. It was nothing to worry about - or at least, not for the moment.

"Not exactly… you aren't the topic of our conversations."

Well, it wasn't a lie. Most of the time. He had tried his hardest to steer the topic of Ginny away from their strange exchanges, anyway. He couldn't help it if Malfoy was interested in his best friend… as creepy as the idea was.

Harry blinked, head cocked in a moment of fleeting confusion. "Wait – oh. No, did you think that was … um. That's Malfoy. He's uh…"

Suddenly his mouth felt like it had gone through several years in the desert. What was he now? Harry couldn't call him just another patient. The morning – that… act had made it clear that, well, Malfoy was not 'just' anything.

"The client?"

"Um. Right."

_Nothing more._

Ginny paused at her friend's hesitation and took his head into her hands. "Harry?"

"Mmmh?" He mumbled, trying not to look sheepish. The eye contact was killing him. It was the expression of integrity, after all, and he was lying through his teeth… It wasn't right. They didn't keep these sorts of secrets… He should tell her.

The woman gathered her courage, willing herself to look into those bright eyes. It was now or never. _You can do it._

"…I – "

_Sex bomb, sex bomb, you're a sex bomb…_

Ginny jumped in surprise, stepping back from Harry. Her apparent confusion seemed to be shared by Harry, who was looking around for the source of the atrociously inappropriate song.

_You can give it to me when I need to come along…_

He scrambled around, reduced to searching in his pockets – after all, the track seemed to be emanating from him, and the rest of the hall was relatively empty except for he secretary at the counter, who was now glaring at him. His hand brushed against the smooth texture of his -

_Sex bomb, sex bomb, you're my sex bommbbbbb…_

The doctor's eyes widened, realization dawning.

Oh.

Fucking.

God.

_And baby, you can turn me on…_

Malfoy.

Harry groaned as his palm slid down his face. This was fucking unbelievable. He had underestimated the convict on such a tiny, insignificant thing, and this was the punishment?

He slid the phone open, casting an apologetic glance at Ginny. The woman was looking a bit bewildered, and somewhat… hurt? He'd take her out for dinner tonight as an apology and patch some things up. There seemed to a lot of things he was missing these days.

"Doctor Potter?"

"Ah… Doctor Dumbledore?"

There was a small, light chuckle. Harry breathed an internal sigh of relief. If the Dean's voice had been grave, he would have thought… just maybe, he had known about this morning. That was dangerous, to say the least.

"Yes… I hope I haven't interrupted anything too major. I'd like to see you, Harry, about Draco Malfoy… It isn't anything major, which I am quite sorry for, but he probably will fail to tell you."

Harry nodded, even though the elderly man couldn't see it. "Right. Would you like me to come up now?"

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, yes."

"Alright."

The doctor shook his head and tried to look sympathetic for Ginny, although his blood was pumping through his veins. What was this development? Even if it wasn't major, as Dumbledore said, it was surely important. If it wasn't, why the need for this urgency?

"Sorry Ginny, Dumbledore needs me for something relating to the - uh, him… I'll see you tonight, all right? Which hotel are you staying at? We could have dinner."

The redhead nodded and smiled crookedly, her expression odd – almost pained. "It's just the Delta down the street. Call me, yeah? I … I'll talk to you later." She turned and exited the double doors of the foyer, steps brisk and quick. Harry frowned as he watched his friend leave, guilt flooding his system. There was something… strange… and very wrong with this scene.

Sighing, he tucked the small handheld back into his pocket and walked away from the foyer, rounding the corner towards the large gargoyle statue that led to Dumbledore's office. Made of flecked granite, the ten-foot statue was exceptionally well carved – and sometimes, just sometimes, from the corner of his eye Harry would see a flicker of movement or a shift of rock. It wasn't spooky – supernatural things didn't scare him much, they never did. It was just strange.

But then again… Mattewan was strange in general. He shouldn't expect any less.

"Ah, welcome, please take a seat." greeted Dumbledore, his silver beard twitching in amusement. He looked a great deal healthier than the last time Harry had seen him, which could only be a good thing. The man took the offered chair and straightened, trying not to let his childish excitement show on his face. It seemed almost a little petty that he was this interested, but information about his client was like food to a starving man.

The Dean threaded his fingers together and gave the psychologist a warm smile before starting to talk. "Harry, you've surely noticed how low-maintenance Draco Malfoy is?"

"Low-maintenance?"

"The lack of specified guards… no devices in his room, only a few nurses to service him, despite the severity of his crimes. It isn't something you could have missed, I imagine."

The younger man fidgeted slightly, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. It had crossed his mind, certainly. But now that Dumbledore had brought it up – it just seemed so much more alarming.

"Yes. I was curious about some of those… may I ask the reason for such lax security?"

Expression sobering, Dumbledore looked at Harry, bright azure eyes glinting behind half-moon spectacles. "Firstly, Mr. Malfoy is not… exactly high profile here. The nurses know his name, but not the full extent of his actions – very few know the full length of his execution list. I have taken many steps in the past to ensure there is no excessive media coverage." The silver-haired man paused, looking at Harry for signs of discomfort. Finding none, he continued. "You probably also know that Mr. Malfoy could escape any time he wants… it is very probable that only his will is keeping him tethered here."

Harry blinked, startled. "But – "

As if fascinated by something non-existent outside the window, the elder broke eye contact, his voice steadily growing softer. "He would not escape without reason. Draco is not overtly malicious or aggressive, but he could not tolerate any sort of item intruding on his privacy. It's something you've wondered about, isn't it? There are no cameras or sound systems; even those who have embedded have been dismantled and subsequently destroyed by him."

"So…"

"The heart of the matter: Draco is due for his annual health assessment in Chicago next week. Truthfully, he has not attended the function since he arrived here, and I have been forced to hire others to do the necessary tests to keep him here. It is not adequate for his health, and is not a legitimate reflection on the Institute."

Dumbledore stared down his long nose at Harry, who was frowning faintly.

The doctor nodded, eyes downcast and observing his still twiddling thumbs. "You want me to convince Malfoy to go?"

"Yes. I believe you could do so. If it were another, I probably would have hesitated… but you are doing rather well. Mr. Malfoy's taken a liking to you, no?"

A wildfire rushed across the dark haired man's face, resulting in dark maroon splotches across his cheeks. "W-what? Where would you get that idea from… Malfoy is merely tolerating me right now… I don't imagine it will continue for much longer."

With a chuckle, Dumbledore continued. "But you see; if Draco so desired it, it would be virtually effortless for him to escape the vehicle or plane or whatever mode of transportation we used. Convincing him is one thing but…"

"…keeping him company is another?" asked Harry, brows furrowed. The chagrin was quite apparent on his face, pinkness ebbing away quickly. "So. You want me to _babysit_ him for you, is that it?"

As he sighed, the wrinkles seemed to stretch on his face. Dumbledore smiled again, looking tired and sympathetic. "It would be appreciated, Harry, but of course, not necessarily. If you can convince him to attend the assessment, that will be more than enough. I've asked too much of you already; please forgive me." The Dean had leaned back in the great chair, humming a light tune. Harry could feel the disappointment radiating off him in waves. This was the second guilt trip of the day, damnit! That was one too many!

He wasn't going to do this. It was ridiculous, not to mention suicidal. It could either be days of fearing for his life or days of continual innuendos that would end up … elsewhere. Neither sounded attractive to him, and even if he did go, it wasn't like it would yield any results… it was just a health assessment, after all.

_Exactly. It's only a health assessment. __Didn't he say it was in Chicago, too? It's a nice city… you can do some –_

No.

With a groan (it was quite literally the sound of his will crumbling), the doctor peered up at Dumbledore, trying to shield his disdain. "When is this and how long will it last?"

"Draco is expected there next Tuesday, which is the 28th. I do not think they'd keep him for longer than 3 days, but since he has been so behind in these… the data from those I hire is nowhere near sufficient. I expect your return at the latest by the following Sunday - which is, I believe, June the 2nd."

Harry blanched, counting on his fingers. That was… Holy. Shit. At the very least, 3 days and nights and the most… almost a week. 6 days.

_Allow me to testify before you, ladies and gentlemen: there is no god._

"Plane tickets," replied Harry, trying not to throw himself out the window, " - first class. Five star hotel. Car rental. Alright, Doctor?"

_If I'm going to die in Chicago, I might as well be equipped nicely._

With a satisfied nod, the Dean smiled, the familiar twinkle returning to his blue eyes. "It will be done."

Taking a look out the window, towards the empty skies of Buffalo, the famed doctor groaned.

_What the hell have I just signed up for?_

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Crying, in this situation, was a waste of time.

Ginny sighed and tossed another tissue into the wastebasket, glaring up at the meagre skyline. It was still bright outside – still day, and here she was, crying in a hotel room. It was a nice hotel room, true, but … it wasn't home. And Harry wasn't here.

Straightening, the woman gathered herself together. It wasn't a defeat yet; Harry hadn't rejected her. They were interrupted, and they were going out to dinner that night too… It was foolish to bawl her eyes out. As cheesy as it sounds… she wouldn't give up. There was no point in losing hope already – and realistically, she needed to hear it. Straight out.

The redhead sighed and flopped back on the king-sized mattress, gazing up at the spotless white ceiling. What would she wear? What would she say? What if he… ah… rejected her? Ginny wanted to be prepared, but… she didn't want to anticipate failure.

There was so much to think about… maybe the extra time was a blessing in disguise. Confessing in the hall of an Institution was not really… as glamorous.

As she drifted off, Ginny couldn't hang on more than one thought.

_Will I be happy? Will I be happy… Will I…_

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**12th Session****  
****May 23rd****  
****Mattewan Psychiatric Institute****  
****Client: Draco Malfoy****  
****Diagnosed with: Psychopathy**

Harry opened the sealed door to sounds of chromatics and scales. The music stopped abruptly as soon as he entered, and upon entering, was met with glinting grey eyes and a mouth much too close to his own.

"Potter. Enjoy your present?"

The doctor could feel Malfoy's breath on his lips and scowled, pushing the psychopath away gently. He removed his phone and offered it to his client, a look of vexation set on his face. "I'm paying the phone bill, Malfoy, but thanks for the consideration. Do you want to hear your old favorite? You said it's been a few years. Go on. I'm deleting it anyways."

The blond shot him a suspicious look before carefully removing the SLVR from his hands, as if handling a grenade. After checking it over (just in case, you know, Potter _had_ put a grenade on it), he flipped the phone open and looked through it leisurely.

Harry watched him for a few moments as the 30 seconds of the Tom Jones ringtone, and then repeating it again. And again. Malfoy handed him the cell back, looking much more amused.

"It was a good song," said the convict contently, settling into the palate. "Why on earth would you delete it? It cost you money, so why not just keep it?"

He snickered when Harry grunted.

Getting off the small makeshift bed, Draco walked to the piano and placed his fingers on the keys, looping the 30 seconds in his head. The blond man went along slowly – treble clef first – and then gradually adding a bass, until the chorus of _Sex Bomb_ had been replicated onto the piano. It didn't sound identical, obviously, but Draco was satisfied.

"Fantastic," said Harry dryrly, "now you have it committed to memory. Will I be hearing this damn song every day?"

"Most likely."

"Damn."

A brief lapse of silence washed over the two; Harry attempted to work the Chicago Assessment into the conversation while Draco stared at the keys, having an embarrassing want to belt out the lyrics. Not that he could sing, though. His mother had a beautiful voice, but _him_? He was all right with being the instrumental.

"Did I interrupt your little meeting with Ginny?" asked the psychopath, turning around on the bench. He had been curious, after all.

"Of course you did," replied Harry, falsely cheery, "you have perfect timing! I'm meeting her for dinner later though, so I've foiled your plans. Sorry."

"Oh naïve, little Potter, that was never my intention." The blond's voice was equally artificial, although the tone was really not Harry was focused on at the moment. Waving off any further suspicion and paranoia, Harry tried to sit up in the grossly uncomfortable chair. He probably wouldn't have such a huge problem with it if it weren't so… ugly. But at least Malfoy's bare hands couldn't dismantle it.

"What are you doing next Tuesday?"

There was a creak of wood against stone as the psychopath straightened on the bench and rolled his eyes. "_I'm buying porn_. What the hell do you think I'm doing?"

Harry smirked and readjusted his glasses. "No need to get snarky."

"Fuck you, Potter."

Exhaling slowly, the doctor prepared for the question. This… whole thing had to be done delicately. Well, he just had to get Malfoy to go, right? It was going to be much harder than said, but… Harry swore quietly, distracted. He never planned things. It was partially a curse, and partially a blessing. Things often turned out for the best when he just went on impulse. But then again, there were just as many times when he ran into a brick wall because of lack of planning.

_Screw it. I'll just wing it and hopefully it'll work. _

"Come to Chicago with me then."

The sight of Malfoy's pale irises widening was something Harry knew he'd relish. It was hilarious and humiliating, and he knew he could never mention it again. There seemed to be a lot of things he couldn't bring up again, which was a shame.

The convict seemed a little lost for words and gaped for a few seconds. "What – Chicago – this – r-ridiculous! What are you talking about?" He paused, and Harry waited for him to catch up. Malfoy knew about the assessment from refusing it this many times, obviously. He couldn't be tricked into going to Chicago blindly.

"Oh. Is it that time again?" The blond snorted and clambered off the bench, back to the makeshift palate. "Hmm. Days pass quickly, I see. Granger was here last year; she harassed me to attend too. Fat chance Potter, because honestly, no one can nag like she does."

"I can't imagine you would have wanted to go with her," replied Harry, trying not to let desperation or frustration bleed into his voice. "But what about me?"

The psychopath notably paused – hesitated – and smiled unpleasantly at the doctor, lips curling.

"Look at your abject flirting, Potter. _Honestly._ Pathetic. What did he offer you?"

The doctor sighed, rubbing his temples and growled, "Nothing. Well, a trip to Chicago. I'd prefer having you alive instead of, you know, dead. You don't smell quite as nice when you're rotting."

"Oh?" Malfoy's brow rose, making him look rather skeptical and bemused. "Then pray tell me: what will you give me to go to this idiotic assessment full of idiotic, pervasive doctors? All they're going to is run EKGs and blood tests and things that won't be beneficial to my skin. You have to pay up too, Potter."

Malfoy was dangerously close now; enough that Harry could –

He closed the short gap between them and took Malfoy's lips, causing the blond to reel back slightly in surprise. It was slow and deliberate but suddenly turned bruising as Harry pushed the blond towards the wall, who could not decide which was more shocked him more: Potter kissing him, or the small explosion of pain in the lower part of his cranium where skull met stone.

"Oh dear," said Draco chuckling although he was slightly breathless as they pulled apart, "this strikes me clear out of the '_just a client_' field, doesn't it?"

* * *

Hoorah. Chapter 17 is done! Remember kids: **REVIEWS ARE LOVE. :)** If you liked it or disliked it, drop a comment! I love feedback, it gets my muse going. I read reviews before writing chapters, to be honest. :P I'm a geek. (I know!) 

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	18. Session 13: Lucky Number Thirteen

A/N: Here's your chapter, dear readers! Lots of shifting in this one, so I apologize in advanced. I'm rusty like woah.

Hopefully you guys won't have to wait another… uh… year for an update; chapter 19 is in the works. I'm motivating myself to write more as a sort of pseudo-nanowrimo.

P.S. I don't research very much, sorry to say. If all the inconsistencies in the story bother you, click back! You wouldn't believe how much gnashing of teeth it'll save you.

* * *

**  
Chapter 18**_  
Lucky Number Thirteen_

Something was wrong.

Riddle frowned at his reflection in the mirror, his pale fingers tying the knot of the silk tie. He didn't know what prompted the thought, but his intuition told him something was happening, something he was not yet aware of. Eyes scanning the area around him, the lawyer stepped out of the pristine bathroom, a hand on the slot where his revolver should have been.

There was no movement in the room other than the light fluttering of drapes caught in a mid-afternoon breeze. Two steps later, Riddle had closed the window and sealed it, his dark eyes still darting around the hotel room. Nothing felt or looked different… yet, he knew something was "off", for instincts had never failed him before. Taking the black gun and silencer from the coffee table, Riddle fell onto the plush sofa and pushed a few strands of hair back, releasing a large sigh in the process. There was nothing here. Premonition or not, he could not act suspicious in a city which still remembered his name and its infamy.

Waving the notion aside, Riddle sat up and retrieved his laptop, all too eager to review his funds. Counting money always seemed to calm him. He paused as the page came up and felt an instant gratification flood his system.

Though to be fair, twenty-five million dollars would make anyone smile.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Ah… damn."

Malfoy gave him a strange look as soon as the phrase came out of Harry's mouth. The doctor flushed red, withdrawing from the wall as if he were a skittish animal. Second time today, good god. This was not going to end well.

There was a moment of silence in which Draco was completely underwhelmed.

"Oi Potter, you… you initiated a kiss twice in one day and you're still squeamish about it?" The blond's tone was caught between amusement and dry disbelief, "you're certainly picking a poor time to have second thoughts. If you're really not a virgin, stop acting like one; it was a snog – and not even a proper one – not a deflowering session."

Throwing a glare, the doctor fell mute and tried to think of something witty or, at the very least, coherent. Unfortunately for Harry however, this was the precise moment where all cognitive ability disappeared.

Something that almost sounded like a chuckle echoed through the room, and Harry found his client a little too close for comfort again.

"Though… I suppose one of those sessions is imminent?"

Harry growled, about to say something scathing when he noticed the spread of redness across the gray cloth of Malfoy's shirt, centered on the collared area. Taking a deep breath, the doctor's trained instincts rose to the surface.

"Malfoy, stay still. You're bleeding, presumably when…" Harry faltered, spots of red still remaining in his cheeks, "…when your head made contact with the wall. Take off your habit."

The blond's brows raised a fraction in curiosity before he touched the base of his head lightly and felt wetness. He looked at his fingers for a second, observing the stained crimson. Shrugging, Draco licked a finger, savoring the metallic, coppery taste on his tongue. He smiled faintly for a second, a feral fire lit within him.

"Malfoy! Habit off now, and stop touching the wound." Harry scowled as he looked around the room for some sort of radio device, only to remember that his client was mentally unstable with no tolerance for electronics. He was not at all perturbed by his client's vampirical palate, since the thought of Malfoy dying of blood loss was much more distressing. "Take it off and settle it against your head; I have to go get a nurse."

With a swish and a quiet click of the hydraulic door sealing closed, Potter was gone. Draco disrobed, looking at the growing red stain and promptly wrinkled his nose.

"This was just cleaned." He said to himself in disdain before balling the cloth up and holding it up to his head, away from the wall.

The wound was a rather serendipitous coincidence for Draco, who had needed a few moments to think. He felt a jolt of pain and swore as he tilted his head back unconsciously, thoughts churning quickly in his head. Potter had done it again. Kissed him. Spontaneously. It was ridiculous to expect anything, but at this point it would be damn near impossible for the doctor to untangle himself out of this situation. A pang of sympathy hit, but Draco shook it away quickly. Potter had dug himself into this hole; whatever happened to him wasn't any fault of his.

Draco masked a sigh as a thick, stocky woman whom Potter called "Grubbly-Plank" entered the room with a white box beside her. He was talking quickly, albeit coherently about what had happened, conveniently leaving out their embarrassing exchange.

The woman looked at Draco expectantly.

"Sit up," she said gruffly, taking a seat on the wooden pallet. Draco did as told, removing the bundled cloth from his head. Grubbly-Plank peered at the wound and then at the gray smock before throwing the cloth towards Harry.

He caught it with an expression of confusion. The nurse skimmed through the items before offering him the white first-aid kit.

"Clean it, and then bandage him up." She said shortly, shooting Harry an extremely unimpressed look before exiting. He turned slightly pink and muttered something inaudible before turning back to Draco.

Opening the kit, the doctor took out a swab and a bottle of disinfectant.

"Keep still."

Draco grinned. His eyelevel was just below Potter's ribs, and he could see the dark maroon sweater lurking behind the white coat. He inhaled and then looked up with a perplexed expression.

"You wear cologne, Potter?"

Harry looked down, quirking a brow. "No?"

"Hmm… Guess that best mate of yours likes the heavy perfume, then?"

With a pause, Harry stopped swabbing and glared down at Malfoy's nonchalant face. "What are you talking about?"

"It's rather strong," replied Draco flatly – how could Potter not smell that perfume on himself? – "and unless you naturally smell like … sandalwood and lavender, I'm thinking I interrupted something bigger than you though down there."

With a sigh, the doctor continued to clean the wound, dabbing a bit of antiseptic onto the cotton. It stung, which was apparent from Malfoy's hiss of pain below him.

"Christ, it's already stopped bleeding. Do you really need to do this?" The sociopath voiced loudly below him, with a disgruntled edge to it.

"Sorry," replied Harry unapologetically, taking a large roll of bandage from the box. He made sure all blond hair was out of the way before patching on a piece of gauze, "but I'm pretty sure Ginny just came for a visit. Maybe Mercy sent her over or something. Anyway, we're meeting for dinner so whatever you wanted to interrupt, you didn't."

Malfoy smiled knowingly. "Oh, I didn't intend to interrupt anything, really. It's a shame that I won't be able to watch the proceedings."

Harry grimaced but said nothing more, busying himself with the cut. Secretly, the doctor was pleased at the distraction from the talk about what had happened, and well, what might happen. Trying to convince Malfoy to go to Chicago was one thing; prostrating himself at the blond's feet was a completely different story. He still had a shred of dignity, even if his body refused to afford him any more than that.

With the last bandage in place, Harry realized that his client was once again topless and staring blankly at his sweater. He couldn't help but look: Malfoy seemed sickly, and he was much paler than usual, pallor tinged a faint green. His shoulders sagged downwards, as if his body was waging a war against gravity and losing.

"Er." The doctor paused, averting his eyes quickly. "Well, I'm going to get you another habit and then I'll leave you alone to decide. I'd prefer if you agreed of your own free will, for your sake."

Chuckling, Draco shook his head. "Oh Potter, is that a thinly-veiled threat? It's a shame there's no substance in it at all."

The doctor scowled and gathered the first-aid kit, tucking it under his arm. "I'm not joking."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**13th Session  
****May 24th  
****Mattewan Psychiatric Institute  
Client: Draco Malfoy  
Diagnosed with: Psychopathy**

Draco sat up and stretched against the smooth granite wall, feeling the coolness of the stone spread across his back. A faint sandalwood scent still lingered around the room from yesterday, causing nausea to bubble in the pit of his stomach. He let his scowl soften before resting his forehead on his knees, exhaling slowly to calm himself. It was hard to keep up this mask of his. He felt like he was coming undone at the prospect of leaving this place; the idea was a seduction, dangerous and inviting. It'd been too long since he had seen the world, but he valued his life more than whatever abstract freedom he would find out there.

The door clicked open and Draco drew a sharp breath, scathing greeting on the tip of his tongue.

"Good morning, Malfoy."

Draco involuntarily gripped the pallet, eyes widening in consternation. Definitely not the man he had been expecting.

"You – why are you here?"

Smiling wolfishly, Tom Riddle brushed himself off as he entered the small room. The gaunt man then frowned faintly at his surroundings, as if offended by the meager constituents before turning his attention back to Draco.

"My my, that's no way to talk to a family friend, especially when said friend has valuable information."

Draco eyed Riddle with skepticism. "Information? My father is dead; you know I killed him. Unless you're here to exact some sort of twisted, overdue revenge, you have nothing to do with me."

"On the contrary."

Drawing the tiny, shiny cellphone from his pocket and snapping it open in one fluid motion, Riddle bared the screen at Draco with a flourish of self-satisfaction.

"I know they have found you, and a way to get in here."

There was only one word on the screen, one Draco had seen many times over in his fathers' letters and memorabilia, _their_ word.

_Morsmordre_.

Pain spread through the sociopath's arm; Draco gasped and peered down at his white knuckles, surprised at how hard he had been clutching the pallet. A million thoughts and instincts ran through his mind at once: kill Riddle, escape, how long had it been, what would be their motive, how would they get in… He shook his head vigorously, willing himself to calm down and rationalize this. It made no sense for the group to turn to Riddle, no matter how much they wanted him dead. The lawyer had done worse deeds, killed more people, sold more secrets. Why would they trust him?

"Impossible." The blond paused, measuring each word carefully. If any of this was true, Riddle had suddenly become very dangerous. "Why… would they contact you? Of all people?"

Riddle watched him, smile growing larger. "You forget I was a former Death Eater, Malfoy, and you forget how many of them you betrayed. I am in a very convenient position to kill you – at the very least; I would be able to lead them to you without too many obstacles."

"You do realize that one of those obstacles is Dumbledore," quipped Draco quickly – like a reflex – before falling silent, berating himself for how pathetic the statement sounded. He noted with scorn that his breathing had sped up and body temperature had risen considerately, like an animal being cornered. Riddle was whittling away at his self-control, chipping away the mask he hid so persistently under.

The lawyer chuckled, amused by Draco's naiveté. "He might have been, but now… have you not noticed his fallibility lately? His age is catching up with him. The old man is dimmer, slower and he's turned a blind eye to your case and Potter. You thought he could protect you forever?"

When he received no response, Riddle grinned, showing teeth. "You've always been a fool."

Feeling his heart hammering in his chest, Draco's brow furrowed with anger. "Then why the fuck are you telling me this? I hardly imagine that you'd have enough of a soul to – "

"Is this hypocrisy I hear?" The dark-haired man's laugh was hollow and chilling, even to Draco. "I owe your father a favor for something he did for me. Let that hang on your nonexistent conscience."

With a soft _click_ Riddle was gone, as quick as he came. Draco stared at the opposite wall, panic closing his throat and blurring his sight. No doubt he had grown accustomed to MacEwan and Dumbledore's safeguard, because the trepidation that engulfed him felt alien and surreal. No, he couldn't fall to this. Maybe Potter could – Potter! He just had to leave. Go to Chicago. Dodge the bullet that would surely kill him if he stayed here.

_No_, thought the blond after a moment, _this is too convenient_. _Riddle knows about the trip_. _It's his _job_ to know_.

Was this a trap? Could he afford to treat it as such? If he stayed, he was dead without a doubt. If it was a trap, he would probably wind up dead. Probably trumped definite.

Chicago it was.

However, conceding to Potter so quickly could potentially be suspicious… But he could only be accused of seeming too fickle and eager to spend extra time with the doctor, which, in retrospect, sounded like typical behavior.

Now, all he needed was access to a phone… perhaps he could borrow Pansy's again. He would just have to move everything up a few days.

A smile flickered across the blond's expression.

Draco licked his lips, and started to plan.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Harry squinted ahead of him, trying to make out a dark character in the distance. The sunlight streamed in from the small, high windows, casting a particularly nasty glare across his line of sight.

Within a few seconds, he realized with a start that it was Tom Riddle, his handsome face contorted into a strange, unreadable expression. What was he doing here, in the terminal ward?

"Good morning, Doctor Potter," greeted the dark-haired man smoothly, all traces of angst dissipating so quickly Harry thought he might've imagined it, "Malfoy again?"

Harry nodded gravely, exasperation clear on his face. "Idiot bashed his own head in. I swear, I'm going to be here forever."

Riddle's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be gone soon."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

She was never sure what his apartment number was. As much as Tonks liked to think she visited the professor often, she honestly didn't. There had been that one time in the rainstorm and a conveniently flat tire that had forced her to stay at Lupin's house for the night, but alas, nothing had come out of it. Guilt bereaved the women for the umpteenth time – what would he think of her? She had skipped class to avoid that awkwardness that had certainly sprung up between them, and because he would no doubt notice her puffy eyes.

Tonks hesitated, hand hovering above the doorbell. Was it 248? Or 284? She always hated this building because of the obnoxious lack of tags. At least the Columbia dormitories had enough courtesy to install nameplates. Gathering her courage, the bright-haired woman pressed down on the button firmly, hearing the familiar buzz inside the complex. There was a shuffle of footsteps – Tonks unconsciously held her breath, the recited speech she had prepared flashing across her mind's eye.

The door swung open. Without missing a beat, the woman bowed her head and spoke the words that she had practiced. It still sounded awkward, but she couldn't do anything about it.

"I'm sorry about skipping class! And I promise I won't do it again; we'll stay as a platonic student-teacher relationship if you want – it wasn't my intention to get upset and do something as silly as storm out, but I'm sure you knew just as I did about my feelings and I – I just thought it would be worth it to confess."

Tonks swallowed, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

"And that's obviously impossible, so please-forgive-me!"

She spoke the last few words clumsily, dread and steadily deflating self-esteem taking its toll. Tonks looked up, a mixture of expectancy and horror curling in the pit of her stomach.

"Er. Ummm. I'm figuring you're looking for Rem?"

There hung an extremely pregnant pause as Tonks blinked, staring at the shaggy-haired man in front of her. Judging from the disheveled hair and topless pajamas, he looked like he had just gotten out of a bed or a fist fight.

Sirius scratched his head, wondering what exactly would prompt a girl with bubblegum-pink hair to crop up on his friend's doorstep. If anything she had just said was anything to go on, this was his apparent love interest. This was going to be fun…

Making a wide sweeping movement with his arms, Sirius beckoned Tonks in to the apartment with a smile he hoped was inviting.

"Rem's just gone for a bit, buying some vegetable shit. I don't really see what's so bad with steak but… well, yeah. Too expensive, I guess? He should be back soon, s'not like him to be late."

Blinking again at this particular anecdote, Tonks' mind was whirring. So, was this… Professor Lupin's friend? He was… interesting – eccentric? – to say the least, but at least not hostile or… well, a significant other. Tonks didn't want to think about how she'd be feeling if the door had opened to reveal a woman. Dislodging the idea out of her thoughts with a vigorous shake, Tonks turned her attentions to the man in the kitchen, raiding the fridge for microwavable goods.

"So what's your name?"

The woman blinked.

"Umm... People just call me Tonks."

There was another pause and a dull _clunk!_ as Sirius' head met the ceiling of the refrigerator in surprise.

"Tonks? That sounds… eh, vaguely familiar." He mulled it over in his head for a few moments before returning to dig through the empty refrigerator. "I think my … eh, cousin knew someone named Tonks… eh. Haven't talked to them in ages, though. M'Sirius."

Unsure of what to say, Tonks twiddled her thumbs absentmindedly. To be frank, this person – Sirius? – seemed almost… er, homeless. Like someone the Professor would pick off the streets. Tonks grinned; it actually sounded like something he'd do.

Suddenly, a shuffling and tinkling of keys could be heard from the hallway, making the unkempt man perk up from his scavenging.

What amusement Tonks felt a few moments prior dispersed quickly. The professor was home, and she had basically invited herself in. The woman felt a rush of heat to cheeks in embarrassment. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, just like how last time wasn't supposed to be.

"Hey, w-what's this – is this steak?! You bought steak! But it's the cheap kind. What the hell?"

"I'm not buying a premium slab at sixty dollars a pound just for you."

"Damnit, your salary can handle it! Indulge once in a while – "

A sigh.

"Just put these two into the freezer."

Sulkily doing as he was told, Sirius trudged into the kitchen with two moderate-sized bags of seafood and meat, cradling the packaged steak like an infant.

Tonks balled her fingers into fists, urging herself to get off the stool. Confront him. Talk to him. Offer to help. _Anything_. She slid off the chair reluctantly, dreading what the professor's reaction would be.

"D-do you need any help?"

Remus looked up, only to find himself staring directly into Tonks' umber eyes. He blinked back at her, like a deer caught in headlights before looking around the multitude of plastic bags.

"Er, these, thanks." He motioned towards two large brown sacs full of greens. "Vegetables, lowest compartment."

The pink-haired woman nodded mutely before taking them, trying to navigate through Sirius' frantic weave between counter and freezer. Well, the professor didn't appear upset. Well, he never really appeared upset. Even that day (last week, was it really just last week?), he had been kind – always kind, of course – and soft-spoken and _damn_, did he have a good poker face. Tonks bit her lip, concentrating on the large head of lettuce in her hands instead of bursting into tears.

When the storing was finished, Remus set about making dinner for the house. He turned to Tonks in the middle of chopping a bundle of green onions, suddenly remembering an important inquiry.

"Tonks, are you staying for dinner?"

"E-er." The question caught her off guard. "Well – "

Sirius slammed the pepper shaker on the table, making the two turn around to look at him; Remus with an expression of disgust and Tonks with one of confusion.

"S'no problem if you stay! Rem always makes too much food anyway, 'cause he's a lonely old man."

Turning a pink to match her hair, Tonks spun back around in her seat and stared at the suddenly interesting grain of the kitchen table.

The professor sighed and stopped prepping, laying the knife carefully on the chopping board. When Sirius began to protest, Remus shot him a glare and pressed his fingers to his lips in a not-so-subtle message to be quiet.

He touched the woman's shoulder to catch her attention, bending lower to speak to her in discretion.

"Could I talk to you for a bit?"

Tonks nodded wordlessly as she followed him out of the kitchen, stopping only to give a half-hearted smile at Sirius, who watched them leave with suspicion.

_He's right to suspect, though,_ thought Tonks with a sinking heart as she weaved through the small apartment, _because this could be the disastrous. Painful. Stupid. Why did I come here?_

Remus guided her to a small, well-kempt room and sat her down on the bed before stepping back. The mood was totally platonic to Tonks' dismay, but it wasn't as if she hadn't expected that. In her dreams, maybe?

The door closed behind them as he sat down beside her, a million questions and answers drifting between them. The air was stifling, as if the awkwardness was tangible.

"Tonks – "

The bright-haired woman made a face, raising her hands to her face in defiance. "Don't."

She flinched as the shabby man leaned forward, indecipherable expression on on his face.

Remus pressed a soft kiss into her hair, pulling the woman close as she crumpled in shock. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, chanting a mantra in her head.

_No, don't do this… Stop stop stop stop stop –_

"I'm sorry Dora," he whispered, voice tempered with sympathy and concern, "I realize this is cruel to you."

"Damn right." Tonks mumbled into his shirt, her heart fluttering painfully. She tightened her grip and hugged the professor closer, relishing in his warmth for a short while.

Remus laughed lightly and gently eased himself from her grip. Crestfallen, Tonks let her hands fall to her sides, keeping her gaze on the ground. She was naïve, had hoped that maybe for once – just once – love would work out for her.

Sunshine filtered through the blinds in the small bedroom, illuminating everything around them. Remus took Tonks' hands in his and smiled warmly.

"Don't skip anymore, alright? I don't want to see someone as bright as you flunk out because of something like this."

The bright-haired woman looked up immediately, her forgotten and wasted speech resurrecting itself. "Oh! I… I'm so sorry for – "

"No need," replied Remus reassuringly and promptly released her hands, "I've missed having your enthusiasm around."

As he turned around to leave, Tonks tugged on the hem of his jacket, disappointment and resentment obvious in mannerisms. She hadn't gotten any of the answers she had wanted completed; instead, she'd only gotten the celibate reaction of a teacher's concern for his student.

She looked up at the older man, heart in her throat.

"And… what about this? …Me?"

A ray of light caught the professor's face, turning his hair a strange, prophetic gold.

He smiled, expression bittersweet.

"I'm sure it'll all work out for the best."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Session Thirteen._

Harry paused, eyes on the printed sheet in his hands, expression sour. Damn unlucky number. He was definitely not a superstitious person, but considering the utter waste of yesterday's period, it could easily be a premonition of just how shit today would go.

The doctor groaned, rubbing his left temple with the respective hand. Where were these thoughts coming from? Superstitious or not, it wasn't like he could afford to be self-loathing, especially right before a meeting with the client. If his emotions could rub off on Malfoy, it could very well be the fuel to the blond's particularly responsive embers.

The number also indicated that he had been here for two weeks. _Two weeks_. What an incredibly short amount of time to go from composed to completely repulsed to whatever he was now. He was steadily becoming a worse doctor as the case progressed; Malfoy was sucking him into the void of violence and immorality and Harry had chosen to ignore these obvious flaws of the man's character in favor of what little physical gratification and curiosity he satisfied.

He couldn't stop himself, either. He was simply in too deep.

_He's going to kill you_, piped up the voice in his head, the one that had been absent for a while, _or get you killed. Or make you miserable._

_I know_, countered Harry with a little more friction than he intended.

_Then why keep doing this? _

It was a good question, and one he didn't know the answer to.

As the doctor came up to the telltale keypad and concave door, he hesitated. Did he want to go in and go through another session of pointless bickering and inappropriate comments? Especially since today's talk would most likely hinge on the Chicago trip and Malfoy's refusal to go. If there was any conversation at all.

Gripping his papers tightly, Harry keyed in the numbers he knew all too well and watched the door slide open.

He was met with a disturbing congruence of his imagination when he stepped into the cell. Malfoy was silent, seemingly bad-tempered and unresponsive, just as he had done a week (was it only a week?) ago. That had been followed by days of fruitless nagging and painful stubbornness, all of which Harry was not eager to relive again.

"Malfoy?"

No response.

… Damn.

"Malfoy, is there anything you wish to talk about?"

Still no response, but his client's eyes had flickered to his face for a second before returning to stare at his feet in thought. Acknowledgement. Good.

"We don't need to discuss Chi – "

"I'll go." The blond turned abruptly, as if waking from a trance. His voice sounded strangled, garbled somehow, as if centuries had passed between the previous session and today.

Harry blinked. "What?"

"To Chicago."

"You… will?" The doctor sounded unconvinced and hesitant; it wouldn't be the first time the blond had lied and promptly screwed him over.

"For a price."

Malfoy's tone was now so smug it made his teeth hurt. Harry groaned, crossing his arms in an act of defiance.

"Of course; I'm guessing… impossibilities, sexual favors or illegal substances? Or maybe all three?"

With a bemused smile, the pale man pulled a contemplative face. "Well no, but now that you mentioned it…"

"Get up," growled Harry, all wisps of concern disappearing. He gave Malfoy's arm a solid tug, "I don't want to hear the insane ultimatum you've got."

"Easy now," replied the blond smoothly, cradling his bandaged head, "you shouldn't treat a client that you wounded so roughly! Imagine what the public would say if it got out."

Harry sighed. "It's disheartening that damaging your fragile little head is the least of my problems. Now look here, Malfoy, I'm not giving you an option. Whether you want to or not – "

" – I just request that we just leave as soon as possible."

Furrowing his brows, the doctor scowled. "What? You do realize that annual check-ups aren't exactly flexible?"

His client shrugged. "Either you tell Dumbledore that we're leaving tonight, or I'm staying. It's your choice."

"But why tonight? Unless you're plotting some – "

In mid-sentence, something clicked. He was supposed to see Ginny tonight, to apologize for Malfoy's conduct and his neglect of their friendship the past few weeks. But if he left… then it would be at least three weeks before he got to see her again.

"I don't understand the vendetta you have against me and Ginny," started Harry, trying very hard not to grind his teeth together while talking, "but I will not be taking off to Chicago at your whim so I can skip the dinner I had planned to apologize for your behavior!"

Malfoy looked at him blankly before breaking into a quiet, almost malicious chuckle.

"Oh yes Potter, I want to sacrifice the only leeway I hold over you and that idiot of a Dean because I'm pettily jealous of a dinner you're having tonight, with your pseudo-girlfriend? Really?" Malfoy paused to let it sink in, a grin growing as Harry turned pinker and pinker. "I mean, it's convenient, but if you think me stopping your so-called 'date' is the reason I want to leave this dingy hellhole, please think again."

His smile fell as quickly as it came. Malfoy glared and pointed towards the door; his voice was soft and raw, forcing Harry to hang on to his every word.

"Now, if the chauffeur will escort us to the airport around six, it would be excellent. Otherwise, get the hell out and don't come back to lob another trip plan my way."

Wordlessly, Harry left the small room and closed the door behind him, still stunned from the small tirade Malfoy just had. He paused, fingers on the keypad as he contemplated the idea of going back in to talk with him, but dismissed it quickly. The blond man seemed particularly volatile with the idea of freedom looming overhead, but he was still stubborn as a mule and had a plan – something dangerous.

Surely there was some other way for this to happen. Not tonight. Ginny was already angry beyond words at him, and this... well, it'd be the final straw. But with Malfoy's demeanor tonight – so much more desperate than usual – how much would it cost him to say no?

The cellphone suddenly felt heavy in this pocket.

With a small sigh, Harry reached in and dialed Dumbledore's number.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ginny watched the hands on the extravagant clock on the wall revolve slowly, counting each second, each minute, each hour.

Harry was late.

Thirty-six minutes late, actually.

Thirty-six minutes, forty two seconds.

She knew the waiters were watching her suspiciously; she had seen them from the corner of the eye since the beginning of the night, but they had only started to eye her (and one even sniggered) five minutes ago.

Thirty-seven minutes.

There was a certain temptation in throwing her hands up and leaving, because Ginny didn't want to waste her time or money or dignity, but she knew she can't leave – if she left, everything will fall apart, her trip would be pointless and –

_I'll hate him_, she thought bitterly, tears quickly blurring her vision. She wiped them away with a napkin, scowling at the thought of what little make-up she had on running.

A horrible, rational part of her brain told her this would happen. Harry won't come because Harry isn't able to put anyone or anything ahead of his work, because even though she's been there for so many years, he's never ever looked at her that way. Though to be fair, he hasn't really looked at anyone that way. He was born to be something great, not to trifle with petty insignificances like love, or feelings.

She stared at her empty wine flute, to look at something else besides the clock, to think about something that isn't Harry and his not being here.

Ginny's finger hovered above the glass, and she smiled with sad recognition as it made a soft ring.

He wasn't coming.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Count to three minutes," instructed Harry to the five suited guards outside the cell, "then move as quickly as possible. Signal me, if you get the chance. Don't let him see you. He's smart, and I don't have to remind any of you that he's dangerous when he wants to be."

Each stony face looked back at him, expressionless, before the one in front nodded stoically.

_They're a bit scary_, thought the doctor nervously as he typed the numbers into the keypad. He tucked a small syringe into his front pocket as the padded door slid open, revealing the small cell.

Malfoy was waiting for him, head propped on a bent arm.

"Evening, Potter."

Harry cocked his head and took a seat opposite the psychopath, all attention focused on how he'll get close enough for everything to work. He didn't plan on making the chaperons outside wait for too long, either.

Picking up a scent of something unusual, the blond yawned and sat up from the makeshift bed, matching Potter's stare with his own. The unspoken question dangled between doctor and patient, making the malaise palpable.

Malfoy's gaze was the first to shy. He always found Potter's bright eyes gave him a strange pins-and-needles sensation – similar to when a limb has fallen prey to inactivity, and it made him puzzlingly uncomfortable to be interrogated by them.

"Well? What's the news on our little trip? Surely you're not here to watch me, though I imagine you'd also enjoy that."

When Harry said nothing, the blond crossed his legs in objection, pale eyes narrowing in suspicion.

_If the doctor wants to play a game_, mused Draco with a sneer, lips curling unpleasantly, _I'll go along with it_.

"Malfoy."

The man arched a fine brow at the mention of his name. "Hmm?"

Holding up the clipboard, Harry pointed to a spot Malfoy couldn't see. "Your flight leaves at eight-thirty."

Draco felt a weight disappear from his shoulders. Thank god, he was leaving. For a stupid, paranoid moment he thought Potter had come in to tell him Dumbledore refused, that he couldn't leave today… or that maybe a large group of suited men with firearms had congregated outside the institute. He squinted at the piece of paper claiming to be an itinerary. "Eight-thirty you say? May I inquire where my chauffeur and respective limousine is?"

Harry smiled coyly, "Who knows? It might not even be to leave yet."

"Don't fuck with me." Draco growled, his pent-up irritation flowing freely. Intimidation had worked before; why wouldn't it work now?

Unfazed, the dark-haired man stood and folded the clipboard under his arm, casting a quick glance on the watch on his wrist.

Ten seconds.

"I don't plan to," quipped Harry nonchalantly, setting the papers down. He leaned down so that his face was inches apart from Malfoy's, forcing the sociopath shrink back slightly, against the wall.

His expression was unreadable. "What are you – "

A small tap from the door interrupted Draco in his train of thought. His gaze flickered to the door before returning to Potter's expectant face.

"Time's up; your ride's here," murmured the doctor with a small smile before drawing the syringe.

Draco recognized the sedative the moment it entered his system, yet there was nothing else he could do. He swore under his breath, willing his body to react. _Shit! _The drug had already made his movements sluggish in such a short amount of time, smothering his senses. The blond's eyelids fluttered as his vision grew blurrier, thoughts dimming. Why did he not anticipate this? Why hadn't he put it past Potter to… do… something like this…

"T-this is… Potter…" His voice was slurred and weak, "damn … s'fast…"

The blond's body crumpled, falling into Harry's arms without a sound. He stiffened immediately, startled, but caught Malfoy and gently set him against the floor. Bending down over the body, the doctor placed two fingers on Malfoy's neck, counting the beats of a pulse and checking the underarm area. The pulse was weak, but no allergic reaction thus far, and no cardiac complications.

A modicum of guilt burrowed itself into the pit of his stomach as Harry looked down at his client and immediately wondered if this was a little too underhanded.

…

_Not in the least_.

Slipping the used needle back into his pocket, he motioned for the men to enter. The bodyguards were professionals; within seconds they had Malfoy held tightly, like a human cocoon.

"Don't bruise him," remarked Harry absently as they exited, "or there'll be hell to pay when we get there."


End file.
